Secrets Part I
by SophiePersan
Summary: Harry & Ruth's story from right after she tells him she can't go to dinner with him again, just exactly as Spooks shows it. But also all the scenes that weren't shown -- the other part of the story that's going on underneath. Harry and Ruth's Secret.
1. Chapter 1

**_This is Harry and Ruth's story from right after she tells him she can't go to dinner with him again, just exactly as Spooks shows it. _**

**_But this also includes all the scenes that we didn't get to see – the other part of the story that went on underneath._ **

**_This is the story of Harry and Ruth's secret._**

* * *

_**Warm hugs and huge thanks to my beta readers: Isa, Sarah and Donna. Thanks for your insight and encouragement.**_

**"_Spooks," its characters and scripts are the property of Kudos Film & Television and the BBC. No copyright infringement is intended by the author of this story_.**

* * *

**CHAPTER ONE**

"_I can't, Harry. I can't be talked about like that. I just...I can't stand it. Sorry."_

* * *

His slippered feet made hardly a sound as he moved through his house. Tidying a table here, moving a newspaper there. He turned on the telly and made the rounds through the channels, but, as usual, nothing was on. After Scarlet was fed and fresh water was put down, there was nothing left to do. A try at a book yielded two pages read and no memory of their contents, so the book found its way back to the side table. A check of his mobile offered no relief, no distracting messages.

Much as he would like to put her out of his mind, it was impossible, so finally he just offered himself up to it. He poured himself a drink, and with a sigh of resignation, sat still and alone on the sofa, with a wish that the ache in his chest would soon go away.

He knows now that he loves her. Really knows it, beyond any doubt. The pain he saw in her face as she told him there were to be no more dinners, which then shut the door on everything else he had begun to hope, hovered now in front of him. And again, he knew that he was the cause of her pain. So many faces with that same look. Women, children, colleagues, friends, all stared back at him. All with the same look in their eyes. Why had he been the cause of so much pain to others, especially those he had no wish to hurt?

And her. Most especially her. That brightness in her that shone on everything she touched and every person she met. He had even managed to extinguish that light in her today. Instead, she stood, clearly uncomfortable, saying something she didn't want to say, the brightness gone. "_People know. They're laughing about it." _Her face, her voice, everything flat, no life in her eyes. And he was the cause, miserable man.

Now, in his maudlin mood, everything needed to be rewritten, every look re-examined. At their dinner, did she laugh? No, she actually looked sad, as he recalled it now. He had tried, in every way he could, to tell her how much he wanted this to be just the start. How much he wanted it to be her in the cafes and the museums. How the person she is, the unique and wonderful woman who now filled his thoughts, was the one he wanted to do everything with, not just The Grand Tour, but everything he could possibly imagine. He knew he had said it awkwardly, but at the time he'd managed to think she'd seen it as sweet, even charming.

But the napkin. He thought about the napkin now. The one that she held and folded and stared at, in what he saw as almost a coquettish way at the time. Why couldn't she meet his eyes? When he described her perfectly as his companion, even adding the clumsy clue about her being naive, why had she looked so unhappy? _Oh, this isn't helping. The pain is getting worse, not better._

_Another drink._ Maybe just one more will make this easier. He rose to go to the bottle, and thought what a cliché he was. Bachelor, well-furnished house, and scotch. A world of memories and regrets and a cold, empty bed. As he poured out the amber liquid and took another long swallow, he felt the burn on his tongue, his throat, into his stomach. _Yes, easier. Just a bit._

And after the dinner, when he had taken her home, she'd been as he expected. Shy, slightly nervous, fumbling with the keys to her house. He'd stood on her steps, watching her, wondering what it would be like to hear, "Do you want to come in, Harry?" Wondering about the tea that might follow, the tentative, self-conscious kiss that might lead to more. As he moved through these thoughts in the few seconds she adorably searched for her keys, he saw a whole life stretched out with them together.

When she turned, finally in possession of her house key, and said, "I had a good time, Harry. Thanks," it didn't matter that there was to be no tea and no kiss tonight, because he was sure it would come someday. When he said, "Would you like to do this again sometime?" she'd smiled that lovely off-centre smile of hers, and he thought he saw a faint blush come to her cheeks.

She hadn't answered him, though, had she? But she had leant up on an impulse, so quickly he hardly felt it, and kissed his cheek. Before he knew it, he was staring at her door, the faint, fresh scent of a garden, like new-mown grass, left hanging in the air where she had just been.

And he had walked, fool that he was, whistling to the car. Imagining a new life for himself. Imagining long, warm nights with her. As he drove, he'd held his hand to his cheek where her lips had been, like a teenager. He had smiled all the way home, and slept better than he had in years. All the screams, the gunshots, the deaths, the disappointments, the pain, had retreated for a time, and he felt fresh, and new, and less wounded.

She did that for him. And what did he do for her? Forced her into a stilted conversation, a refusal to see him again outside the Grid, and a desperately sad look as she left. Now, in his loneliness, all the moments he had imbued with meaning became an old man's wishful thinking. The squeeze of his arm, the touch of her hand on the bus, the looks he imagined he'd seen, were just the stuff of pathetic dreams. _Get a bloody grip, Harry_.

A final swallow drained the glass. Getting drunk might be the answer, but Harry knew all too well what came after that. Not a solution, just a postponement. He set the glass on the table next to the book, and closed his eyes, waiting. For what, he didn't know, maybe for the night to just close in and give him some blessed sleep.

* * *

Scarlet stood up on his lap, digging her little paws painfully into his thighs. When he managed to look at her, she was on full alert, shivering visibly, but focused unwaveringly on the front door. Harry sleepily rubbed his eyes, and involuntarily looked at his watch. 2:23. Years of training and reflexes had him up and prepared in a second.

"What, girl?" he whispered softly to Scarlet, almost expecting an answer. He put his fingers to his lips and shook his head at her. With a smile, he saw that it seemed she understood, and she moved quietly off the couch.

A soft knock. Harry realised that this was the second one. The first had roused Scarlet. "Hostile intruders don't generally knock," he whispered to her, although Scarlet was holding out judgment until she got more information. "Good little spook," he chuckled at her. Harry pulled the tie to his robe around him, and ran his fingers lightly through his hair before opening the door.

"Hello, Harry."

Was he dreaming? Hadn't he fully and finally let go of Ruth with his last swallow of scotch? She looked so small, like a bird that had flown to his front step, unable to go one more mile. It was cold outside, and as Scarlet shivered behind his legs, Ruth shivered in front of him. Harry felt a shiver too, but not from the cold. She looked so lost, so completely and utterly forlorn, that he wanted to fold her into his arms to warm her. But time was ticking by, and the cold was starting to come into the hall. Action was necessary.

"Ruth, come in. It's freezing out here." She seemed incapable of motion, so Harry gently took her arm and led her into the house. Anything he might normally have said to someone arriving on his doorstep at 2:30 in the morning seemed positively redundant. There was clearly something wrong, and she obviously was not okay. Her hair was endearingly dishevelled, and it appeared as if she had simply put on her slippers, shrugged on a coat over her pyjamas, and decided to pay him a visit in the middle of the night.

Her voice was thin, reedy. "Would you ask me that question again please, Harry?"

Harry frowned, confused. "What, Ruth? Come in? You want me to ask you to come in again?"

"No, the question you asked me in your office today." As Harry puzzled through this, he realised with gratitude that, although she looked very tired, her eyes were bright again. The dead look was gone, and he smiled slightly in spite of his confusion.

She continued, rooted to the spot where she stood in his hallway. "You said, 'Have you thought any more about ... '" she started, as if she were reciting a lesson in school.

Harry felt as if he were talking to a child, but couldn't help his tone. She seemed fragile, as if she might break if he spoke too forcefully. "Yes, I was asking if you wanted to have dinner with me again."

Now she smiled. That wonderful, bright, Ruth smile. "Yes, that question. I'd like to give you a different answer, if I still can." She seemed to gain strength from his understanding of the problem, as if she were glad she didn't have to explain herself to him.

Harry waited for her to continue, but she simply stood looking at him, her face open and so beautiful with no makeup and the flush of the cold on her cheeks. He realised she was waiting for him to say it.

"Ah, yes, well. " His tone became slightly formal, but with a tinge of the amusement he was beginning to feel. "Ruth, would you like to have dinner with me again?"

"Yes, Harry. Very much." Now she moved closer to him, shy but firm, and whispered. "But we're going to have to be careful, because they're laughing about us on the Grid." She smiled up at Harry, and now he saw the subtle but unmistakable twinkle. It took every ounce of strength he had not to simply lean down and kiss her.

With mock seriousness, Harry said, "Why do you think they're laughing at us, Ruth?"

She saw the smile that tugged at the corner of his lips, and moved closer still. She whispered. "I think it's because they're jealous."

"And you came to that conclusion at 2:30 in the morning?"

"No, I came to that conclusion about five minutes after I walked dramatically out of your office. I've been _thinking_ about it until 2:30 in the morning, Harry." Ruth looked down at her hands. "And I realised I was having a sleepless night about people laughing at us, even if you wouldn't, so I thought I'd try it your way."

Harry's heart expanded slightly, and he needed to take a deep breath to give it room in his chest. He was aware that it had grown due to the addition of hope, which was flooding back into him. He saw that Ruth was happy, and this time, it was _because_ of him. Not pain, not sadness. He caused her to feel happy. And now, he couldn't stop himself, although he felt the need still to be a gentleman about it. They were, after all, in a rather improper state of dress, and it was, in fact, either very early or very late. He was also, he remembered, her boss. And they were, finally, in his house.

He moved gently to close the space between them, and brought his hand up to touch her cheek, speaking very softly. "I know this is a little past asking you to dinner, Ruth, but would you mind terribly if I kissed you? I'm not sure I'll be able to prevent it." Harry could hear his own heart, and was certain Ruth could, too. At the very least, she should be able to see it in the veins in his neck, where her gaze was firmly held. It seemed an age before she answered him, but he waited patiently for her to speak.

Ruth smiled shyly, as pink suffused her cheeks. She glanced up to meet his eye, and Harry could see in her face that she was no longer the fragile little bird. It was as if he had sent all his strength to her, and now he was the one in danger of breaking.

Finally, she spoke. "I want you to, Harry. But I need you to understand. I want very much to find out where this leads, but I can't stand the gossip, really." She swallowed, and looked at him earnestly. "Will you be able to do this? Can you keep it just between us? No sly looks on the Grid, Harry. No juvenile notes passed back and forth. A real, honest-to-God secret."

"Yes." There was no hesitation. She might just as well have asked him if he would leap from the roof of Thames House at this point. His judgment had been seriously compromised, and he needed very badly to kiss her. "Yes, Ruth, I can."

His part of the contract fulfilled, he bent his mouth to hers as slowly as he could bear. How many times had he watched her lips as she spoke in the briefing room, those sweet, full lips incongruously speaking of bombs, and cells, and the history of terror. Now they were soft, and yielding, and seemed only made for this. As Ruth let out a tender sigh, he thought to part his lips slightly and deepen the kiss, but a feeling quickened in him. Not fear, but patience, the sense that there would be time for more, and they might not need more than this for now.

As he pulled gently away, he let his lips graze Ruth's cheek, her eyelids, her hair. He smiled as he saw that her eyes were still closed. She could have been asleep and dreaming, but for the light sounds she made. He clasped his arms completely around her, bringing her to rest against him. Holding her, Harry marvelled at how they fit together, like two puzzle pieces, positive and negative spaces meeting perfectly. So right, this feeling, as if he'd found the other half of himself. She snuggled into the warmth of his robe, circling her arms around him, and together they stood, her exhale matching his inhale, and then reversed, as if they were breathing for each other.

Ruth stirred then. Obviously, her brain had re-engaged after the brief holiday in his arms. Her voice was muffled in his robe, but distinguishable. "That was awfully fast, Harry. Your answer to that question? Are you sure you weren't just saying it because you wanted to kiss me?"

He had already forgotten the subject of this conversation and needed a refresher. "Saying what, Ruth?" he murmured against her hair.

She pulled away and looked him in the eyes. "About the secret, Harry. About keeping our secret." She tilted her head in warning. "I really mean it."

Harry chuckled softly. "Yes, Ruth, and I happen to agree with you." He brushed his lips across her cheek again, relishing the softness there as he spoke. "It also sounds like fun. Secrets can be a bit wicked, can't they?"

Ruth nuzzled into his neck, smiling. "Yes, Harry, a bit wicked. But will we be able to do it?"

Travelling from her cheek to her mouth, Harry whispered his next words against her lips. "Have you forgotten? We're spooks."

* * *

**CHAPTER TWO**

* * *

Again, Harry walked, _yes, fool that I am_, whistling to the car. But as he strode away from Ruth's front door this time, he had the memory of a long, lingering kiss with the woman he loved, dressed beguilingly in coat and pyjamas, fuzzy slippers, and a soft, sweet smile.

As he closed the car door he looked at his watch again. 5:47 a.m. But Harry wasn't tired, and he knew that his bed would not be slept in tonight, or rather today. His few hours of sleep perched on the sofa would be enough for him. He would go back home, take a shower, grab a cinnamon latte and croissant on the way to work, and get to the Grid a bit early.

Some time later, Ruth would enter from the pods and go to her station. He would look up through the glass and watch her, as he was fond of doing lately. She would simultaneously stow her purse in the bottom drawer of her desk, switch on her computer and monitor, pull pens and notebook from their place in the stand behind her and situate herself in her chair. All in a symphony of multi-tasking that was effortless in its efficiency, as beautiful to him as a ballet.

She always checked to see if he was in his office, and today would be no different. Nonchalantly, casually, as if the outcome of that look had no bearing on her happiness. As if his presence or lack of it meant nothing to her. But she always looked, and yes, there it was now. As always, he managed to avert his eyes in just the split second before she would have seen him, to some particularly fascinating file on his desk. Or if dangerously close, to nothing at all on his desk before he searched out the blue glow of his computer screen.

But today was as different from yesterday as it could possibly be, as if worlds had collided in the night. Today held a level of potential that hadn't existed yesterday when they performed this very same dance together. Today they knew the feel of each other's lips, the warmth of breath exhaled softly on each other's cheeks as they kissed. Today they knew the contours, the landscape of each other's held bodies, fully clothed, chastely held, but still vividly remembered.

Each one had a heart beating wildly in their chest as they performed the ritual on this morning, and not a soul on the the Grid would see that anything was different. Both had their training. Harry and Ruth knew that when you find yourself on new ground, you fall back on the basics, on what you know. So they followed the script more exactly than ever before.

What had passed between them last night was an understanding that they held a hope for the future. No words of love were spoken, although each suspected that love was also what the other felt. No promises were made, but a space was opened up where promises were possible. Each felt, wordlessly, that the strides they had made through the honesty and vulnerability of those tender kisses was more than enough progress for one night. And there they had left it.

They had pledged to put even more distance between them on the Grid to quell the rumours. Away from the Grid, they would try to allow their time together to flow naturally, taking one day at a time.

The next date would be in a couple of days, once Harry had put the fear of a new post in Northern Ireland in his Security Officer, Jeffrey. No one else knew about his dinner with Ruth, so it hadn't taken Harry long to work out where the leak had occurred. Jeffrey was a good man, loyal and competent. He just needed to be soundly convinced that silence was a requirement of the job, off _and_ on the Grid.

Harry played a game with himself, _I'll wait five minutes before I turn to look at her_, and when the five minute mark was reached he increased it to ten, and so on. Finally, at 30 minutes, he gave himself permission to look away from his screen and casually scan the Grid beyond his glass enclosure. Malcolm stood behind Ruth, and both were looking at her computer screen. She was excited about whatever it was that she was showing Malcolm, and Harry knew it was another piece of information she had mined, another impossible challenge met. She was, after all, the best Intelligence Analyst he'd ever known, and that was over and above the fact that he loved her.

Harry looked back at his own computer screen and pretended to be reading the file there. What he was really doing was calculating. The number of women he'd loved, he could count on one hand. _Whilst holding a cup of tea_, Harry thought ruefully, lessening the number still further. The women he'd known, aside from Jane, of course, and in her own way, Juliet, had never really found their way into his heart. Those who had wanted him either fell in love with whatever legend he was sporting at the time, or worse, felt that they could change him. Either way, they were chasing a ghost.

Ruth already knew more about him than any woman he'd ever known. And they had only kissed. Harry reached a hand up to cover the involuntary smile that spread to the corners of his mouth. His fingers touched his lips, the place where her lips had been, what, five hours ago? He narrowed his eyes in lieu of closing them completely, and put himself, body and soul, back in her arms. _Can I do this? Yes. I can do anything now._

* * *

**CHAPTER THREE**

* * *

The drive was lovely. Ruth trailed her hand out the window, feeling the pressure of the oncoming air, slightly chilly but refreshing and clean. Harry had put in a CD of some symphony or other, and the sound of the violins was moving toward crescendo as the trees flew by, blurry with speed. Her head leant back on the leather rest, and she felt in more ways than one that she was on a rollercoaster, flying wildly and trusting that the wheels would stay safely on the tracks.

Since that night at Harry's house, nothing, and paradoxically, everything, had seemed the same.

Ruth had only toyed with legends, uncomplicated ones, for short periods of time. She'd never given herself over wholly to a double life, being someone in public that bore only a passing resemblance to the person that spoke in her head. _But this must be what it's like_, she thought. _You move through the interaction with other people thinking, don't you know what's really going on here? _Ruth was more convinced than ever that we don't truly know the people around us. Everyone has their secrets.

She and Harry had waited five days to see each other outside of the Grid again. Harry had spoken with Jeffrey, who was suitably contrite, confessing that he had talked with Jo at the water cooler. He'd admitted that he wanted a date with the pretty blonde, and thought the information would impress her. Her reaction surpassed his wildest dreams, and Jeffrey got caught up in it. He'd learnt his lesson. Harry told him, "You are now in my confidence, Jeffrey, and that is sacred ground. Don't disappoint me." One need only hear that once from Harry Pearce. Ruth knew that tone of voice, and it was enough to make your blood run cold. She was no longer worried about Jeffrey.

Ruth had to admit that the five days had been good for them. They had both leapt into the deep end of the pool, and needed time to take a breath. Both were naturally cautious, and she felt from Harry the same thing she felt, an almost incredulous wonder about their sudden prominent place in each other's worlds. She knew his thoughts were as filled with her as hers were of him. She could triangulate his position on the Grid at any point in time, as he could with her. They did it silently, through telepathy, while speaking to each other on topics as banal as terabytes, and as devastating as terrorism.

Her head facing out toward the trees, Ruth smiled. She couldn't feel more connected to Harry, and so far, they had only kissed. Three distinct times in Harry's house that night. _Although it is hard to count when one blends into another and another._ Once on her doorstep when he said goodnight. _Maybe I would call that one two._ Then a quick brush of the lips when he picked her up for lunch today. Saturday, and all the turmoil in the world seemed to have taken a break just for them.

Harry hadn't told her where they were going. He'd said he wanted to surprise her. They had driven out of London going west, that's all she knew, and that's all she cared to know. She was with him, they were alone, and she could let the double life go for an afternoon. The buildings had gotten smaller, the road narrower, the trees more abundant, and now they were in the country. It was getting close to one o'clock, and her stomach growled in protest.

Ruth swivelled on the headrest, turning to face him. She smiled. He was still Harry, but a different Harry. Harry with an open collared blue shirt, deep blue like the sky that peeked down through the trees. The white, starched shirt of the Grid, buttoned-up, tie-perfectly-in-place Harry was taking the day off. The one she had here was Henry James Pearce, who was a boy who played with his mates in the streets of Reading, Berkshire. This one wore his favourite soft black jeans, and didn't have to save the world today.

"I'm hungry." She smiled at him with her head still leant back.

"Patience, Ruth. It will be worth it. The best things are worth waiting for." Was it her imagination, or did everything they said to each other now have a deeper meaning? He looked over at her for as long as the road would safely allow, and his eyes were soft. When he turned back to drive, she saw the hint of a contented smile that told her he was happy just to be here with her.

"That's good advice, Harry. Thank you." She said it without sarcasm, and she meant it entirely. He stole a look at her and saw the same soft smile from her. Then her stomach rumbled again, and this time, they both heard it. Ruth clapped her hands down to her middle, laughing. "Tell that to my appetite!" Harry laughed too, an open, throaty laugh. The one that belonged to Henry James Pearce before he saw so much of the world.

The Brasserie Gerard was attached to a small hotel in Henley-on-Thames, which seemed far removed from London. The tables and chairs were set out on the pavement, with blue umbrellas the colour of Harry's shirt. The sun was shining, and people strolled lazily by with packages. Ruth wouldn't have been surprised to see a horse and carriage clatter by.

The scene was not lost on Ruth, who gazed at Harry from under her lashes once they were seated. "The Grand Tour, Harry? Where are we? Rome? Paris?"

He just smiled back at her. "It's not New York, but I thought you might like it." He pulled the white napkin from the water glass and moved it to his lap. "It has a hotel attached."

He'd mentioned it only because he thought she'd find it interesting, but as soon as the words were out of his mouth Harry regretted them and his face showed it. Just a split second of lost composure, and Ruth's eyes widened. "A hotel? Ah. Yes." Her face was unreadable to him, but he assumed he knew what she was thinking.

His discomfort made his voice slightly strident. "And tell me why are we assuming that _I_ am the one who is so overcome with passion that _I_ must seduce _you_?"

Now Ruth smiled. She was enjoying this. "Because _you_ were the one the other night who had to kiss _me_, Harry. I was still having a reasonable discussion with you."

Harry sighed in relief, seeing that this was play. His smile was teasing. "I seem to recall that someone else was involved in that kiss. Maybe I should be guarding _my_ innocence, Ruth."

"Innocence?" Ruth's eyes widened still further. "Oh, Harry, we probably shouldn't move onto that topic." She was still smiling, but in the tilt of her head, Harry felt his warning system begin to sound. Wanting to change the subject quickly, he picked up his coffee cup to have a sip. "Saw this place in a travel guide once, always wanted to come here … "

"What happened between you and Juliet?"

One more centimetre, and Harry's coffee would have been in his lap. Lucky for him, he was able to pull the cup back in time.

"Uh, pardon?"

"Well, clearly there's something between you. I am an Intelligence Analyst, you know. I analyse things. It's not always just data, Harry."

"What makes you think there's something between us?"

"Stalling tactic, Harry. Ask the questioner a question. I won't bite." Ruth took a sip of her tea, and smiled at him over the rim of the cup. "You're here with me, and she's not sitting between us, so I suppose I have the upper hand for now."

Harry laughed. How he loved this woman. So few people could put him completely off his feet, and she did it routinely. But from the moment he had committed to making a place for Ruth in his life, he had committed to the truth. There was nothing he would keep from her if she asked. And she was asking.

"It was a long time ago, Ruth. Ancient history, really. We were working together … "

Ruth stopped him, gently. "I've read the file, Harry. I know where you were and what you were doing. I know she was married and so were you." She looked down at her plate. "I want to know if the tension I feel between you comes from the fact that you still care for her. Because I think she still cares for you. A great deal."

Harry almost laughed again, and would have, if Ruth hadn't been so grave. _My life is turning back on itself_, he thought in amazement, as a phrase with the words, skating, thin, and ice crossed his mind. _Women have bloody x-ray vision, especially in matters of the heart. And they simply blurt it out in the most astonishing ways!_ He needed time to think about how to respond to this. He and Ruth were still tiptoeing around their feelings. The last thing he wanted to do was fall face first into _this_ one.

He spoke lightly as he ventured another sip from his coffee cup. "You should thank Juliet, you know."

Ruth finally smiled at this. "Oh, I can't wait to hear why."

Harry put down his cup and took her hand across the starched white tablecloth. His voice was soft, low and affectionate. "She's the one who told me I shouldn't let you pass me by."

Ruth sighed. _How does he do it? One minute I'm interrogating him, the next he can have me for a shilling._ Her voice sounded tiny inside her head, but she tried to sound confident and flip. "Juliet? Really? I'll have to send her a thank you note."

Harry was smiling at her, his look inscrutable. Ruth thought suddenly that it looked just like love, and a tingle started at the back of her neck, right at the hairline. She imagined herself returning the look, and saying it, right now. _I love you, Harry._

He was still holding her hand, his thumb gently stroking hers. The street seemed to go silent, even the pedestrians moved in slow motion. Their eyes were locked, and Ruth realised that the rest of his face was blurred, only his eyes in perfect focus, brown and soft and bottomless. She imagined leaping off the precipice, her mouth opening to say the words …

"The Salade Nicoise?"

Ruth's salad was placed in front of her. His hand moved away, the noise began again on the street, and Ruth stepped back on to solid ground, a little breathless. The voice inside her, the one that kept her life safe and uncomplicated, spoke firmly. _That was a close one._

Harry's Sole Meuniere was delivered, and Ruth took a bite of her salad. "Ummm, delicious. Good choice of restaurant, Harry." After a moment, she rested her hand on the table. "But you never answered my question."

He looked up at her, pursing his lips. "Yes, I know. I was thinking you'd forgotten it."

"_Hoping_ I'd forgotten it?"

Harry put down his fork. "No, not hoping. I want to tell you everything you want to know, Ruth." He dabbed at his mouth with his napkin. "I will always be honest with you. You and I have spent far too much time already in withholding things from each other." He sat back in his chair. "You want to know if I am in love with Juliet Shaw? Absolutely not. Was I ever?" Harry moved forward to rest his arms on the table on either side of his plate. "Who knows?"

He reached out to Ruth's hand. "I might have thought I was, once. But it has to be measured, Ruth, and at that age I didn't have all the information I needed to know if it was really love." He stroked her hand, and he was so close to saying it. _I know I love you, Ruth. I know that now._ But something told him it was too soon, they were too new together. He didn't want to frighten her. He didn't want to frighten himself. They needed to experience and enjoy _this_, whatever this was, today.

"Thank you, Harry." When she looked up from gazing at their hands, she had tears in her eyes. Harry took a corner of his napkin and touched it to her cheek to catch the one that threatened to fall.

"I'm available, Ruth. Completely and utterly available." She pulled his hand toward her and kissed it, gently, without saying a word.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER FOUR**

* * *

It was nearly 3:30 in the afternoon when Harry finally pushed away from the table and walked around to Ruth. As he took her hand, Harry looked down the street and said, casually, "I think I saw a sign for Italian Ice on the way in. We can leave the car at the park and walk for a bit." She thought his manner was a little too studied, and Ruth gave him a sideways glance, suspiciously.

After reading his face, she gasped and said, "You _planned_ this!" She started ticking them off on her fingers. "Paris café, Italian Ice, and what, an exhibit of Spanish paintings, and maybe a church with German influences?" She was laughing now, and so was he, but he was giving her hand signals that looked much like the bread roll dance. She realised he was trying to get her to switch the last two, and she complied, giggling, "Ah, yes, so, Spanish church, German art?" Harry nodded, looking abashed, but both of them were still laughing.

"Harry, how calculating you are!" She wiped her eyes, and gave him a soft rap on the arm. "How long did you think it would take me to figure it out?"

"Not calculating, Ruth. Just efficient. You, of all people, should appreciate that. And I had the highest expectations for you, my prize analyst. Which of course, you have surpassed." Harry reached his arm around her shoulders and they began walking, "Oh, I was online, looking for a restaurant, and it all just fell into place. I thought if we couldn't actually do The Grand Tour, as it's likely that _someone_ from our place of work would figure out that we were both gone at the same time and sending postcards from the same locations," he pulled her closer and brushed his lips across the top of her head as he spoke more softly, "we could have an abbreviated version today."

Ruth snuggled into the space beneath his arm. How long had she known him? Three years, eighty-four days, give or take some hours, and now the last few minutes. She had always felt that she saw through the mask of his position on the Grid to the real man underneath. But she had often puzzled which one she had fallen in love with, the one who was able to bravely give the order to kill, or the one who cried in private for his fallen people. And, of course, she knew that it was both, that all parts of him came together into the man who walked with her now. When he had been harsh with her, when others had wished he would speak more softly, Ruth had understood. She knew that he fought against his gentler side, that it was always threatening to undermine the steely gaze he showed the world.

Now, as she slowed, she realised the extraordinary gift he was giving her with his softness. The man who plotted out this day, only for her, so romantic, so vulnerable. This was a side he didn't trust to others, and he was trusting it to her. She suddenly felt so privileged, so honoured by that trust, and her heart filled with him to the point that she almost couldn't bear it.

Abruptly, Ruth stopped walking and looked around her until she found what she was seeking. She led Harry by the hand to a narrow corridor, and then to the small alcove of a shop with a door that looked like it hadn't been used in years. It was hidden by the umbrellas of a café, and just big enough for the two of them to stand face to face. It was an old building, and the alcove was cool, shaded, with the slightly musty odour of well-worn stone. It felt to Ruth as if they had stepped back in time.

Ruth leant up and whispered in his ear, "Harry, I'm beginning to understand the whole 'have to kiss you now' problem, and I'd like to apologise for being insensitive about it earlier." She put her arms around his neck and moved her lips from his ear to his cheek. "Harry Pearce, you are the last of the great romantics. And I wanted to say thank you."

With that, she rose up slightly on her toes and kissed him, softly at first, and then with more pressure as she tightened her arms around his neck. She had meant simply to give him a kiss, to show him how sweet she thought he had been, to let him know how much his thoughtfulness had touched her. And she meant not to do it in the middle of the street in front of all the people walking by.

What Ruth hadn't taken into account was how vulnerable she, herself, was in this moment. Harry had opened her heart wide and she wanted so much to let him know that he was safe with her, that she could hold and love all of him, the steely and the soft, and he needn't worry that he had to hide any part of who he was.

But as they stood in this private place, amongst buildings that had seen so many come and go, Ruth suddenly felt the weight of every day she had loved Harry alone in her thoughts, and every night she had dreamt of the possibility of this intimacy, of wanting him to respond to her. She kissed him, and then she didn't want to stop. In truth, she wanted them to lose the control that had kept them apart for so long, and although it might not be a good idea, she wanted to take both of them into uncharted territory and see how they would find their way back.

This time, when she parted her lips, he did too, and he tasted deliciously of good French coffee. She felt him hesitate for a moment, and she thought he might break away from her. But then she felt him relax with a deep sigh, as he pushed her gently against the wall of the alcove.

Her back felt cool where it touched the moist, ancient stone, while her body, where it met his, was impossibly warm. His arms were bent, the length of his forearms pressed up against the wall, his hands gently cradling her head, protecting it from the flat rock. As the kiss deepened, she felt his urgency as she felt her own, and without thinking, Ruth pressed her hips forward slightly, wanting to feel all of him against her. Again, he hesitated, but this time he did pull back, his lips just a fraction away from hers, as he struggled for control.

Harry's voice was husky, low, and she felt it vibrate through her. "Ruth, I want to do the right thing here." Her breath was as ragged as his, and she said, "I don't know if it's right, Harry, but I think we've both wanted this, haven't we?" She pulled him gently to her again, wanting more of the softness of his lips, more of his tongue, more of the deep sounds that escaped from his throat. "Yes," he said against her lips, "yes, I want it … but … "

Ruth pulled away slightly, and spoke breathlessly into his cheek. "But not here … " Harry pulled back so he could see her face, see what she was thinking, and she smiled at him, letting him know that she wasn't hurt, that she agreed. "No, not here."

Harry nuzzled into her hair, "Oh, Ruth, don't mistake me. There is nothing I want more right now. This is taking more control than I thought I had." Taking her face in his hands, he kissed her tenderly as he spoke. "But I want clean, white sheets, I want a locked door, I want to have the time to explore every inch of you without interruption. And lovely as this is … " He looked around them. "It's just not big enough for what I want to do with you."

In amazement, Ruth heard herself say brazenly, "There's a room with clean white sheets and a locked door just above us, Harry." Harry didn't flinch, but his eyes searched hers until she broke his gaze, looking down at the space just above his collar.

"Is that what you want, Ruth?" He was still watching her eyes as they both stood motionless.

Ruth sighed, and the moment broke, along with her bravery. "N-No … well, yes … no, Harry, not yet." She looked up at him. "Not because I don't want it, mind you. I think the last few minutes may have convinced you of that." A blush blended with the passion already in her cheeks. "But … but I want … " She stopped, unable to say what she wanted.

"You want … ?"

She almost said, _I want a lifetime with you_, but stopped herself. "I want time. And although I am the one who wantonly dragged you into this alcove, I am a romantic too, and it is time that I want. Time to know you, off the Grid," and now she spoke the words she had thought in the car, "Time to know Henry James Pearce, Harry. Time for you to know me."

He smiled at her, tilting his head, now curious. "And you would be … ?"

She pursed her lips in the way that he found so adorable in briefings. "I don't use a middle name."

"I know, it's not in your file." He probed her eyes. "But you have one."

"Yes." She looked down again. Ruth sighed as she gave in. "Elizabeth. My mother's name."

"Ruth Elizabeth Evershed." Harry leant his back on the other side of the alcove, and took her hand in his. "Henry James Pearce."

Ruth smiled at him. "Very glad to meet you, Henry."

* * *

After returning to the street and the crowds, Harry and Ruth walked hand-in-hand through the village. They stopped for Italian Ice, cherry for Ruth, lemon for Harry. And though they hadn't spoken of it yet, both knew that the two walking from the alcove were changed from the two that had walked in.

Harry was frankly reeling just a bit. He could still feel how much he wanted her, and a heightened awareness of the woman who walked beside him. They hadn't gone too far, but it had taken a strong will. And he wondered, if he hadn't been the one to stop, how far Ruth would have gone. And that was a new question to him.

He'd known Ruth had passion because he'd seen it in her. But now, feeling the slight tremor that was brought on by remembering how it felt to have her press against him, he realised he'd vastly underestimated her. He also understood, as they walked lost in their own thoughts, that over the years he'd placed her on somewhat of a pedestal. He'd put her up there, and he really had no right to. He was now quite happy to have her safely off of it and at eye-level with him.

What had he thought? That she was fragile? That if he told her, she would be shocked by the thoughts he'd had of her? And most of all, had he imagined that she hadn't had the same thoughts about him? Harry was the first to admit that he didn't understand women very well, but the more time he spent with Ruth, the more layers he saw in her. And he found himself falling even more in love with the complicated, passionate, fiercely intelligent and intensely feminine woman who walked beside him.

And psychic. "What?" she said, stopping and peering into his eyes.

Harry wasn't sure he still had the power to blush at his advanced age and experience, but he did feel some heat come to his cheeks. "Nothing, really," he said, absolutely unconvincingly.

Ruth smiled up at him. "And what happened to 'I'll always be honest with you, Ruth'?"

Harry raised his eyebrows and exhaled. "May have left it in the alcove." Then he smiled at her. "Shall we go back and look for it?"

Ruth took his hand and led him to a bench that overlooked the Thames. It was picture-postcard beautiful. Flowers in abundant bloom, clear fresh blue water. Even two swans gliding by. Had they spoken of it, they would never have believed that both of them had the same thought as they watched the graceful birds floating by. Swans mate for life.

Looking out at the water, because she couldn't look at him, Ruth said, "Have I shocked you, Harry?"

He realised that she was asking a real question, and that there was some fear attached to it. She was worried that she had gone too far, and that he thought less of her. He immediately took her by the shoulders and turned her to face him on the bench. "No. As I was just thinking, quite the opposite." Harry trailed a fingertip across the line of her jaw. "I love your passion, Ruth. It matches mine."

She looked back at him, her eyes glittering in the sun that was moving low on the horizon. "I've thought about what it would be … like. What it would feel like to … " Pausing to phrase it correctly, she pushed a stray lock of hair from her eyes. "I suppose I wasn't prepared, Harry. For … for the _strength_ of it. I got lost, a little … "

"Ruth, are you apologising?" His question was direct, matter-of-fact.

Her answer was as forceful as he hoped it would be. "No! No. That was _me_ in that corridor. Completely me, Harry. More of me than I've shown to anyone in a very long time. It's just that I'm not used to … being … "

"Being out of control? Losing yourself in something?" His eyes grew soft as he looked at her. "Another thing we have in common, Ruth." Her skin was becoming almost translucent in the setting sun, and he couldn't help himself. "You're so beautiful, you know. It's almost hard to look at you right now."

Ruth tilted her head and her eyes grew as soft as his. "Oh, Harry. How you make me feel."

"Good, I hope."

"Yes." The word was lost as she leant over and kissed him, gently. His arm went around her and she rested her head on his shoulder while they looked out at the water.

"It's all new, Ruth. No manual. No brochure. I think we're doing very well, actually." He held her tighter. "And to truly answer your question? I was surprised by you in the best possible way. We're more alike than I could have hoped."

She felt his chest rise with a sigh as he continued. "But I've also learned today that if we're to take this as slowly as I think we both know we should, we had better stay away from small, private spaces, my Ruth. We're not to be trusted."

He sat up and saw the final light of the sun on her cheeks. He kissed them both, saying, "Now I need to get you to a church, where you may confess your sins."

"And you?" she asked.

He pulled her from the bench and led her up the path. "I am pure, so I shall wait patiently until you're done."

* * *

**CHAPTER FIVE**

* * *

The church was exactly the type Ruth loved. So old that the shiny wood of the pews had slight indentations where so many had sat. She liked to imagine all the prayers that had been sent up from these seats, and all the stories of the people who had prayed them in the 175 years it had stood here. She managed to visit a church in most of the places she visited, not because she was a particularly religious person, but because she loved the history of them, the quiet echo of the cavernous spaces, and the flicker of candles.

They were the only ones there on this Saturday evening. She sat in the last pew with Harry on her right. As she studied the altar at the front, it was impossible not to think of another day when they sat exactly this way. Ruth closed her eyes, and she added to the prayers that had been sent up to the heavens, as her story was added to all those who came before.

Harry knew what she was thinking, because it was on his mind as well. When she opened her eyes, he moved closer to her and took her hand.

"I'm sorry about that day, Ruth. It wasn't fair of me to take you away from Danny," he whispered to her.

She squeezed his hand. "You have to make the hard decisions, Harry. We all have the luxury of judging them." She turned to him and gave a sad smile. "I said goodbye properly when it was all over. I didn't need to be in a church to find him."

They sat for a time in silence. Suddenly, Ruth's breath caught, and she turned back to him. "So many gone, Harry. But gone to save so many others. And no one knows their sacrifice. Just the few of us. How do you bear it?"

Harry gazed at the pew in front of them. "Because they made a choice, and because that choice makes a difference in the world. Whether anyone knows it or not."

After another few moments of silence, Ruth took Harry's hand and nodded toward the door. "You ready?" He nodded back, and they walked out into the crisp night air.

The lights were dancing on the water, and the bridge in the distance was too enticing for them to pass up. They walked to it in silence, and then Harry laughed softly.

"What?" Ruth looked at him.

"Do you realise that my mobile hasn't rung once since I picked you up? I told Adam that I was to be out of commission today unless the world was falling down around our ears." He stopped and looked at her, and then leant down to give her a soft kiss. "It could be, for all I care." There was a lightness to him that she hadn't seen before, and as he took her hand to walk up the ramp to the bridge, she felt his happiness blend with her own.

They stood quietly for a long time there. When Ruth shivered under his protective arm, he rubbed her shoulders and said, "This was a good day, Ruth. One of the best I can remember. And now I'm going to take you home so that we can dream about it, chastely, in our separate beds."

She snuggled in next to him as they walked back toward the car. One of the best she could remember as well. In this moment, in this time, life was very, very good.

* * *

**CHAPTER SIX**

* * *

"Fidget! Phoebe! Come!"

The two cats came running, knowing that Ruth was ready to give them their favourite treat of the day. Bits of ham and cheese from whatever salad she was making for her lunch dropped into their bowls, and they were suddenly motionless except for the flip of their tails and the sound of their ravenous eating. That is, until one was finished before the other.

"Fidge, don't push! You girls, you'd think you were starving!" Ruth laughed at them, and the joy of it came from somewhere so deep inside of her that she had to sit down. Fidget, grey and elegant, had actually named herself, because she seldom sat still. Phoebe was pure white, and Ruth had named her after the Greek goddess, meaning "Bright Moon." Not only the sun, but the full moon would shine down through Ruth's kitchen windows, and Phoebe would bask in it as if she knew it was her namesake.

Ruth loved the tall kitchen windows that made the room feel almost like a greenhouse. Bright sunshine poured over the kitchen table this morning and warmed her as both cats came to rub up against her, hoping for more. She closed her eyes, seeing the pink through her eyelids, letting the warmth wash over her face, and Ruth realised she was smiling again.

"Idiot," she laughed. She put her head in her hands, but was still unable to stop the corners of her mouth from turning up. "Harry bloody Pearce, what have you done to me?"

Ruth got up to finish making her lunch, and heard herself humming. She hadn't felt quite this good in a very long time. Phoebe was still angling for more food, and she rubbed back and forth on her black pants, leaving trails of snowy white hairs. Ruth would normally scoot her away, fussing, but today she didn't mind. She finished her salad, boxed it up, wiped the counter, and looked at her watch. Ten minutes to the bus.

The last thing she wanted was to be late today. She wanted to see him. So much. It had only been 9 hours since he kissed her goodbye, this time after a late cup of tea at the kitchen table. He had held her hand as they talked, and she had a moment of imagining it was their home together, and what it would be like to have him with her every night.

_What do you do when your dreams come true?_ "You keep right on dreaming," she said aloud to Fidget, who had now begun to add grey to the hair on her pants.

Ruth gave herself a once-over with the lint roller, and quickly let herself out the front door before Phoebe and Fidget could love her some more. Her walk to the bus stop got her there just in time to step up and find a seat on top as the bus pulled away. Of course she never could be on a bus without remembering. The touch of his hand, the intimate feel of his fingers, made especially so because she couldn't see him.

In fact, she always sat in the same seat if she could. The same one she sat in that night. And every time, she would close her eyes and remember the feel of his hand on hers, and his lips brushing her hair saying thank you before he disappeared into the night. She had been disappointed that he reverted to talking about work, but something he said always pleased her, and she thought of it often. " … to my eternal shame, and now regret, I didn't stop." At the time she had brushed it off, saying she liked the bus, but that was only to cover the thrill it gave her that he would say such a thing.

For him to say that meant that he had thought about it, more than once. "To my eternal shame." That he had seen her standing in the rain, passed her by, and not forgotten. For so long, that had been enough for her, that she was in his thoughts. And she had to admit now, as she closed her eyes and felt the movement of the bus, that she had dreamt, but never expected, that she would have a new memory of Harry. One that included a bridge, a church, swans, a lovely French meal in a Brasserie alongside the Thames, and a kiss.

And if she stepped on to the Grid on this Monday morning and everything had gone back to the way it was? If she had to go back to dreaming only, would she survive? She knew she would, and with a memory that would last a lifetime. But, oh, she wanted more. She wanted days and nights with him to fill up oceans with memories. She wanted to know all of him, and for a very long time.

* * *

Ruth arrived on the Grid and forced herself not to look at Harry's office as she walked in. She went straight to her desk, put her purse away, turned on her computer and monitor and pulled her pens and notebook down off the shelf. Not able to stand it any longer, she allowed herself a peek. Harry's light was on, but he wasn't seated at his desk.

Then he walked out of the hallway from the briefing room with Adam, just as the Foreign Secretary came in through the pods. _Things are starting early this morning_, Ruth thought, realising that her hopes of a quiet day surreptitiously watching Harry was not to be. But replacing that hope came her usual excitement about what they would all be focusing on. God, she loved being a spy.

Zaf was walking by, and she looked up at him. "What's going on?"

He stopped and bent down to whisper to her. "Havensworth Summit." Ruth knew about the _Addressing Africa_ summit that was to take place starting day after tomorrow for three days at the Havensworth Hotel in Berkshire. She'd included it in Friday's Weekly Report as a matter of course, outlining which dignitaries would be there and the level of possible threat.

"What about it?" she asked Zaf.

"Seems the Americans and the French are trying to back out of signing the agreement. Six intercepted a phone call between the US Trade Secretary and the French government. Styles said it's not a good time to be cutting American farm subsidies, so he won't sign."

Ruth had studied the issues in depth. "But they have to. This could save Africa, Zaf. People are dying there, children are dying because they can't get medicine or food. They can't afford it because no one in their country will buy their crops. It's all going to the Americans, to bloody Alabama, because of the subsidies the Americans pay. It's a horrible situation."

Zaf agreed. "Well, good news is it sounds like we're going to mount an operation inside Havensworth. We're going to make sure the agreement gets the signatures it needs." Zaf inclined his head toward the briefing room. "Harry and Adam are presenting it to the Foreign Secretary right now."

Ruth loved this part. "Goody." She raised her eyebrows and asked Zaf, "Any idea where I'll be?"

"You and Malcolm are on surveillance. I'm in service at the hotel somewhere. Don't know the rest."

Just then, Harry and Adam walked the Foreign Secretary to the pods. They said goodbye, and Harry looked over to her. She couldn't suppress the quick jump of her heart. Harry, the man she had spent the day with on Saturday, who had kissed her in the alcove, held her hand in the church, walked with her, touched her face tenderly, spoken to her so softly, brushed his lips against her hair …

"Ruth. Briefing room. _Now_." Yes, this was the same man. Ruth smiled, knowing that all was right with the world.

After Harry had briefed them on all the particulars of the Summit, including the intentions of the French and the Americans, he said, "This will be an uphill fight, but we're going to do what we can."

Ruth couldn't keep quiet any longer. "Harry, we have to do better than that. People are suffering, with cholera, with malnutrition. Their families can't make a living, they can't sell their cotton because it's all being purchased cheaply overseas. Their own countrymen are dying, and they're only thinking about the money."

"Good, Ruth. We're going to give you an opportunity to channel some of that enthusiasm. You're writing a speech for the President of West Monrassa, Gabriel Sekoa. He'll give it at the opening ceremonies. It needs to be emotional and persuasive, two adjectives I know you understand. We'll need it this afternoon."

She stared Harry down. "Good. Then you'll have it this morning."

"Even better. So, Ros, you'll be in the hotel as Summit organiser … " Harry moved on to the next assignment. As the rest of the briefing continued, Ruth marvelled at the two people she and Harry could be. They slipped effortlessly into these roles, and she doubted that anyone would guess what the Head of MI5 and his Senior Intelligence Analyst had done over the week-end. For a moment, she thought about the alcove again, and as the colour rose in her cheeks, she wondered if Harry had thought about it since he stepped on the Grid this morning.

She doubted he had, and that was all right with her. He needed to be Harry Pearce. They needed him to be. And she always had her memories to pull out and warm herself by, whenever she wished.

But if she had been able to peer into his brain, Ruth would have been very surprised. Although Harry kept himself thoroughly focused, since last week she had been the final thing he thought of before falling off to sleep, and the first image in his mind as he awakened. He was aware of where she was as he greeted the Foreign Secretary, and had inwardly been intensely proud as she spoke her compassion so eloquently in the briefing.

And right now, as he nodded his head and listened intently while Malcolm explained the finer technical points of video surveillance, Harry was figuring out just how he could see Ruth again tonight.


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

* * *

The rest of the day was spent in writing and polishing the speech for Sekoa to give day after tomorrow at three in the afternoon for the opening ceremonies. That, plus legend writing for Ros and Zaf, and research into all of the Summit delegates, kept Ruth very busy. She saw Harry only in passing, and never alone, but she found they fell back into their familiar routine on the Grid. She was doing what she loved, feeling useful. And before she knew it, it was 8 p.m. When she looked around, Harry was gone. His office was dark, and she hadn't even seen him leave.

Ruth hadn't known until the final briefing at the end of the day that Harry would be at the hotel for the full four days of the Summit. By that time, she had already made a request of Adam that she be stationed on the Grid with Malcolm rather than liaising with him from the hotel. She and Malcolm had felt it would be too disjointed, and that there were so many people to keep track of, it would be best to have four eyes on the work. Malcolm wanted Ruth because she thought the way he did, and he trusted her.

Although it was late, a full crew was still working. Adam was on the Grid, as were Ros and Jo. Malcolm was at the hotel with Zaf and a technical team, setting up surveillance cameras and microphones. Of course, she couldn't ask anyone about Harry, and she was done with her work, so she packed up her things and put on her coat.

"Right. Night all," she called out as she made her way to the pods. The plan was that they would all show up on the Grid tomorrow morning for a final check, and then those who were staying at the hotel would go in the early afternoon to check in, along with all of the delegates. Ruth was tired, and ready to kick her shoes off to have a cuddle with the fluffy girls at home.

She stepped out into the fresh night air and breathed it in, enjoying the chill feel of it after artificial air all day. She walked the fifteen minutes to the bus stop, and sat on the bench, waiting. It was dark, and she couldn't read her book, so she closed her eyes for a moment to rest them.

"Can I give you a lift, Miss?"

Ruth smiled, keeping her eyes closed. "As long as you're not some weirdo."

Harry laughed and took her hand. "Can't promise that. Hurry, before someone sees us. My car is just around the corner."

Pulling her coat collar up so that it covered part of her face, Ruth looked at Harry, who chuckled and did the same. They walked, arm in arm, close together, looking very much like two people pretending to be spies. And doing it badly.

When they got to the car, Harry fumbled with his keys and hit the alarm button instead of unlocking the doors, and his car burst into a number of extremely loud and conspicuous sounds until he was able to push the button again to silence it. Ruth got her coat caught on the door as she tried to get in too fast and ended up pulling it almost over her head before she wrestled it into the seat.

By the time they got in, they were both laughing so uncontrollably that neither could function. "Shhhhhhh … oh, cripes, very smooth, Harry. What did you say you did for a living?" Ruth was still trying to unhook her arm from the sleeve of her coat, which was now in a knot.

"Demolition, I think, something very noisy. Why do you ask?" Harry was working to get his seatbelt on at the same time he tried to put the keys in the ignition. He managed finally to get the car started, put it into gear, and got them safely on their way. They were only able to go seconds at a time without laughing, and then would start up again.

Harry looked over at Ruth, his eyes glistening, "Well, I think that went well. Don't you?"

"Absolutely by the book. Perfect spy-craft. No one suspected a thing, Harry. Ooh, my stomach hurts, please say something to make me stop laughing."

"Sorry. Can't. Helpless. Oh, I haven't laughed like this in a while, Ruth." Harry reached over and stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. "Doing all sorts of new things with you lately. What's next? Bungee jumping? Now's the time. I'll try practically anything."

"How about a glass of wine? My place. I promise to kick you out chaste and covered in cat fuzz. But I think I'm short on bungees."

"Brilliant. Wine and cat fuzz it is, then." Harry turned toward Ruth's house, and they finally quieted.

_Companionable silence_, Ruth thought. She had always listed it as one of her requirements for a good relationship, and they were already quite good at it.

* * *

Ruth got down the glasses while Harry uncorked the bottle. They sat on the sofa that faced the fireplace, and although it would be nice, neither had the energy to make a fire. It had been a long day for both of them.

Harry had his arm around Ruth, and she nestled on his chest. She could hear his heart, steady, rhythmic, and his breathing, so reassuring and sound. When he spoke it vibrated through her. "So I understand you're not to be at the hotel? Why is that?"

"Nothing sinister, Harry. Just that Malcolm and I thought it would be best. I think I can do more on the Grid."

"Not avoiding me, then?"

Ruth sat up, smiling at him. "Harry. Do you think we're not up to maintaining our professional distance at Havensworth?"

He smiled too. "Well, I'm not the one who asked to be reassigned, am I?" Harry took a sip of wine to cover his slight awkwardness. "And I may have looked forward to a little sneaking about. I can admit that."

Ruth laughed. "Sneaking about? At Havensworth?" She moved around and curled her legs under her so she could face him. "Harry, do you have any idea of the amount of surveillance currently installed in that hotel? We'd be lucky if we could have a dirty _thought_ without them monitoring it."

Harry sniffed. "Actually, I don't know about the surveillance, as whilst Malcolm was giving his fascinating talk, I was busy plotting how to get you back here tonight. I really can't understand a word he says anyway, Ruth." He smiled at her over the rim of his glass.

"Ah, then you might have paid a bit more attention. Everyone will be tracked through their mobiles and pagers, including _you_, Harry." Ruth suddenly got a knowing look on her face. "Which means … I will know, along with Malcolm, exactly where you are at any given time." She leant over and kissed him on the neck, whispering, "Be aware, Harry. Be very aware."

Harry tightened his arm around Ruth's neck and she struggled, laughing, as he drew her to him. "All right, where are the cameras located? I can get it out of you, you know. I have electrodes in the car." He brought his lips to hers and kissed her, long and deeply, as she relaxed into him, giving up the struggle. The taste of wine was on both of their mouths, and both felt deliciously light-headed.

They moved in tiny increments, until they were in danger of reclining sideways on to the sofa. Harry's hand had moved by inches from Ruth's face to her neck, then to the space just above her collar, and he was unconsciously trailing a finger lower as he kissed her. Ruth put her hand over his, gently, and he pulled back, sighing.

His voice was thick, soft, and full of emotion. "You see, Ruth? We're not to be trusted."

"Mmmmm, I know. But, God, this feels good, Harry." She snuggled back into his neck. "I was _humming_ this morning. The cats think I've gone round the bend."

Harry laughed, and kissed her forehead. Then her cheek. And her lips. And they were at it again, until he broke away abruptly, and said, "Right. I either need to go home, or we need to talk about rugby or something equally anti-erotic." He held her at arms-length, as if she might bite him at any moment.

Ruth laughed. "You know I can't abide sports, Harry, but I think in this state I could make even rugby erotic." She put her hands on his and removed them from her shoulders. "But don't go home just yet. Can't we just talk?"

Harry kissed her on the nose and stood up. "Only if I sit over here." He moved over to the chair next to the couch, taking his wine with him. Ruth sat back and stretched her legs out in front of her on the sofa, one arm draped across the back. She picked up her wine glass and took a sip.

Harry sighed as he watched her. "However, I hadn't bargained on how good you would look from here. I may need to go home after all."

"No! Okay, I'll make it worth your while to stay. You can ask me any question, and I'll answer honestly. Does that sweeten the pot?"

"Ah, yes, true confessions. Only fair, as you've already had your turn at interrogating me about Juliet." He sipped his wine thoughtfully. And then he rubbed his finger around the rim of the glass, slowly, thinking.

"Well?" Ruth hadn't thought it would take this long for him to come up with something. Now she was getting worried about what his question would be. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea.

"Oh, patience, Ruth." He smiled slyly across at her. "You know, this is emerging as quite a problem for you. I had no idea you were so impulsive in areas of the heart." He took another sip, maddeningly slowly. "The issue is that I have two questions right now, and I'm trying to decide."

She couldn't stand it any longer. "All right, what's the first? Then I'll decide if you can have another."

"Good." He sat up and leant forward. "After the EERIE exercise, I walked out of my office, and you said, 'you bastard.' Firstly, not very ladylike, Ruth, but … and you must answer this honestly … what was in your mind at that moment?"

Ruth sputtered a bit, becoming almost as angry as she was that day. "Well, I think that should be fairly obvious, Harry. We'd all been thinking it was the end of the bloody world, and out you stride, telling us what good little spooks we were!"

Harry didn't flinch. "Yes, that is the obvious answer. And your righteous indignation was duly noted. But what else, Ruth?"

She simply stared at him for a very long moment and then lowered her eyes to her wine glass. She swirled the chardonnay slowly around and took a breath before answering softly. "I thought you were dead, or … or … dying. Alone in your office, quoting St. Paul. Sick, going mad, and alone." Ruth swallowed, and Harry realised she had gone suddenly very serious.

She looked up, stricken. "I almost came in, Harry. I took the keys from Tom when he wasn't looking, and stood at your door." Ruth closed her eyes, remembering. "I was so close to unlocking it and coming in to you." Now her eyes opened, and they were shiny with tears. "What would that have meant to you? That I was willing to give my life in order for you to have some peace and comfort as you died? And then, after … after … who would have been with me?"

"_I still will stay with thee … "_ Harry whispered the words that came unbidden, from Romeo's death scene. Moved beyond expression, he went quickly back to Ruth on the sofa, never imagining his question would cause this. He'd thought that she would only admit that she was worried about him, but this was so much more. He held her, and felt her shuddering, and realised she was crying. Harry tried to be sorry that he had asked the question, but her answer was such a gift to him that he couldn't regret it. "Oh, Ruth. I had no idea. Shh …. Shhhhh … I didn't think … "

She put her arms around him, and her tears fell hot on his starched shirt. "But I didn't Harry. I didn't come in. And what does that say?"

He held her, stroking her hair. "It says you're a woman who loves life, Ruth. And that you considered it at all is absolutely the most unselfish thing anyone has ever thought of doing for me. It touches me more than I can say." Harry pulled her gently away and wiped a tear from her cheek with his thumb. Another tear, just about to fall, he kissed.

"Oh, Harry, I've thought about that day so many times since then. I've imagined myself at worst a coward or at best, a realist. One who, as you say, loves life. But my heart hurt, physically, to think of you in there alone. And when you walked out I was so grateful that you were well, and so angry at you that I was ready to kill you myself." Now Harry held her, and the shuddering was relief, a form of releasing laughter from both of them.

She looked up at him, tear stained and, Harry thought, more beautiful than he had ever seen her. "Forgive me, Harry? I need to hear it from you. Tell me I didn't abandon you."

He held her so tightly now, he was afraid he might hurt her. "There's nothing to forgive, Ruth, but I will if it eases your mind. And I will keep the gift you've given me tonight, close, always. I'll take it out when I need to remember what I'm worth. You'll remind me of that."

* * *

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

* * *

Ruth's heart sank. His blinds were open this morning, but the light was out, and it looked as if no one was inside.

She sat, feeling the loss of the ritual, and so wanting to see him. And then she chastised herself for it. _Needy girl_, she said to herself, _Harry's an important man, with important things to do, and here you sit moping because you can't look at him._

Fully contrite, Ruth entered her password and logged in to see what her tasks were for the day. When she looked up, Jo was at the front of her desk, breathless. "Ruth, what are you working on right now?"

"Well, not much at the moment. I know I need to update the Weekly Report, flag the level of possible threats for the Summit and such, but that's not due till end of day. What's up?"

Jo was frazzled. "Well, I'm buried. Malcolm has me running this new face recognition software for Havensworth, and it's giving me hell, and now Harry calls from hospital … "

"What?? Why is Harry in hospital?" _Nice one, Ruth, very subtle_. "I mean," she backed off significantly, "everything okay?"

"Sure, he's fine. Walked in this morning, got a call from Juliet, and walked back out. But walked back out without the report he needs for his meeting with the Home Secretary, which he will go to directly after holding Juliet's hand … " This last bit was said with a large portion of sarcasm. "God, what that woman has on him is beyond me … " Jo looked down at Ruth and saw her face, and immediately regretted she'd said it. "Oh, Ruth, sorry, just it's been a bitch of a morning, the couriers are all taken, and now I'm supposed to just pop over and give this to him ... "

Ruth knew she needed to recover, and quickly. "Jo. I'm happy to take it. I've got a light load today, no bother at all." She started to gather up her purse again, and looked across her desk at Jo. "And there's no need to be sorry, Jo." In her steady gaze there was the clear message: _There's nothing between Harry and me._

Jo's gratitude was effusive. "Oh, Ruth, you're such a pal to do this. I'm knackered, and it's not even bloody nine o'clock." She was already on her way back to her station. "Thanks, really," she said as she sat down and began the struggle with her computer again.

"No worries, Jo. Tell Malcolm where I've gone if he asks, he can reach me on my mobile. Back soon."

With that, Ruth was out through the pods and on her way to hospital. She could take the bus, and then Harry might be able to drop her back on his way to see the Home Secretary. She could still get her work done, and she'd get a short time with him alone. No downside, she thought, smiling to herself.

Well, almost no downside. _Juliet_. Jo's words came back to Ruth like a cold gust on her neck. "Holding Juliet's hand … What that woman has on him is beyond me … " The cold moved from Ruth's neck to her stomach, and she recognised it for what it was. _Jealous, am I? He told you there was nothing between them. Am I suspicious of the man who held me last night, who shows me he loves me with every word, every action? Ah, yes, but then why hasn't he said it?_

_Oh, I don't know, Ruth, perhaps because it's been all of a week and a half since you showed up on his doorstep in the middle of the night? Bloody hell, how fast is the man expected to be? And as both of you know, this has been going on for much longer than a week and a half, so why haven't YOU said it? _

The tennis match in Ruth's mind was giving her a throbbing headache. She stopped and took stock of the last few days, the last few years. And two words came clearly to her. _Trust him._ Ruth looked out the window of the bus, and traced a small heart on the fog there. She whispered so softly that she could barely hear her voice over the noise of the engines. "You're a good man, Harry. I know that."

* * *

Harry entered the room quietly. Juliet was propped up on the hospital bed, and appeared to be asleep. She looked much better to him than she had the last time he saw her, scratches healed, no horrible hospital gown. Instead she wore a purplish jacket, soft around her neck. A flush at the cheeks, natural or not, lent her more youth than she'd had when they had their last conversation.

He was sure that Juliet had no idea what she'd started. "That's one to ponder" had led to a dinner invitation, which led to Harry now believing the future to be a wonderful destination. He smiled at the thought, and sent up a grateful prayer for Juliet's usually annoying straightforward manner.

Would he have done it anyway? Perhaps, but probably not. Hearing Juliet say, "Ruth is in love with you" gave Harry the small assurance he needed to risk the embarrassment and hurt of rejection. But what he realised he had been most afraid of was the loss of the status quo with Ruth. They may not have had love, but they had something, and he wasn't ready to risk losing even that by overstepping.

Juliet stirred, but Harry realised with a profound sadness, she only stirred from her shoulders. There was an unnatural pose to her, turned as she was slightly to the side, but from the waist down faced perfectly to the ceiling. _No one deserves this_, he thought.

His life with Juliet, so long ago, was held in a box, like one of the boxes that held all the legends of every agent at MI5. He could take it out and look at it now, but it wasn't real to him. That time in Paris had been so new, so exciting to him. His marriage to Jane started out badly, and Harry was aware that it had been a mistake, earlier than he would even admit to himself.

Juliet had been as exciting as the work. Slightly older than he, quite beautiful, and dangerous. A lethal combination. They had made love at times stupidly, when there was extreme risk, revelling in the power of it. Harry was young, and that young man belonged in the box too. Harry hardly knew him anymore.

_But paralysed_. God, he had trouble even getting his mind around it. For anyone, paralysis is a devastation. For Juliet, it had to be close to death. The woman who could stride across an office and strike fear in anyone who watched, who could stand her ground stubbornly even until it made no sense anymore, who sat with legs crossed just so, to remind any antagonist that she was still, and finally, a woman. This Juliet would spend the rest of her life in a motorised chair. It horrified him beyond belief.

"Harry." Juliet's eyes were open, and she looked at him across the room. He went to her and sat on the bed as he had before, being careful not to put any pressure on her legs. _She can't feel it, but I can_.

"I got the message that you needed to see me. They said it was an emergency? How are you, Juliet?" Harry's voice was softer than Juliet remembered, and there was a new tone to it. She couldn't know that it was a direct result of Ruth opening his heart a few notches. Harry wasn't even aware of it, only that he sat feeling a sting of compassion for Juliet. He was actually feeling quite overcome, by Harry standards.

"I'll never walk again, Harry. It's certain now. I needed a friendly face to tell that to. As you know, no one likes me, and I have no friends. You're the closest thing I have." Harry realised in horror that Juliet was about to cry. Yelling, abuse, _torture_, he could stand, but oh, God, not Juliet crying. He had never seen her cry, never even heard the emotion in her voice that would lead to tears. Harry Pearce, intrepid Head of MI5, was terrified beyond speech.

"Oh … Juliet … oh, well. I'm … I'm so sorry …" He had barely gotten the word out when he knew it was a mistake. Sympathy put her over the edge, and the tears began slipping, one after the other, down the sides of her face and into her hair. She closed her eyes, and the purplish jacket began to shudder as she let out small, wracking sobs. Her hand was on the bed at her side, and all he could think of to do was to pick it up and pat it, saying, "Now, maybe there's someone else, second opinion, yes?"

"I've had twelve of them, Harry!" _Thank God, now she's shouting_. But it was short lived, as she descended even further into tears. Her hand was now squeezing his, pulling him closer. He scooted up the bed and she grabbed his jacket. "Please, Harry. I can't stand this. We had something once, didn't we? Do you ever think about Paris?"

Harry knew that compassion is one thing, misleading is quite another. "Juliet, I feel for you, I truly do. This is more than anyone should have to bear. But I can't let you think that I … I took your advice, Juliet, and … " Juliet wasn't listening. She seemed to be in the throes of some nightmare. With surprising strength in her upper body, she pulled herself toward him by gripping his coat with both hands, and she kissed him.

Harry was so taken aback that he didn't move for just a split second, and she pressed her advantage. Putting her arms around him in a vice grip, Juliet kissed him harder, until Harry was actually having some difficulty breathing. He reached up and took both of her hands, prying them off his neck. Compassion be damned. This had to end.

"_Juliet, I'm in love with Ruth_!" Harry shouted.

* * *

She'd been watching for much longer than she should have, really ever since Harry had taken Juliet's hand. But she couldn't seem to move. Standing outside the window, Ruth only heard the muffled sounds inside, but she did hear Harry shout.

And what she heard was, "Juliet, I'm in love with you."

Ruth, ever the good spook, checked the file in her hands to be certain it had no "Eyes Only" documents. Once she was sure of it, she walked to the nurses' station and calmly said, "Excuse me. There is a Mr. Pearce in Room 324 with Juliet Shaw? Would you mind awfully giving him this file? He'll need it when he leaves."

* * *

**CHAPTER NINE**

* * *

She hadn't cried yet. Really, it was a bit like a sleepwalk. Back on the bus, upstairs as usual. Sit in the same seat. But the memory that always came was scattered this time, like a cracked plate. And now, as her senses began to return to her, it was almost as if this was the reality, the truth, and the last ten days was the dream. Had she just dreamt it? If it was a dream, what a good imagination she had, because she could still feel his lips on hers, hear his heartbeat full in her ear as she snuggled on his chest, and remember how he smelled of soap and shaving cream and something sweet, like chocolate. Like Harry.

As she sat on the bus and it jostled her, she loved him more than she could ever imagine loving another human being. Her heart was full to bursting of him. And she knew it was over. She would go back to her life with her two cats. Back to her life on the Grid, if she could bear it. And she would watch "The Red Shoes" every night if she had to, to feel better again. But this time would be harder, because this time she would know. She would know what it was like to be held, and kissed, and feel cherished by him. _I have to find a way to live with this. People like me don't really have that kind of love anyway. It must have been a dream._

For now, she was grateful she had a job to do. She was needed. She would go back to the Grid and begin her work with Malcolm. She would watch the tiny red square that was Harry Pearce as it moved up and down the hallways of the Havensworth Hotel, saving Britain. She would do what she had to do, and she would try to bear it.

* * *

Harry's talk with the doctor was very illuminating. They had given Juliet a sedative to calm her after giving her the news, and she had been typically resistant. This did not surprise Harry. The problem was that the sedative had the opposite effect on Juliet, and she needed something much stronger, which they had given her as soon as Harry rang the nurses' station.

A file was given to him, which had been delivered by a young woman, the elderly nurse said, and Harry was grateful that Jo had been able to get away from the Grid after all.

Leaving Juliet sleeping peacefully, Harry went off to meet with the Home Secretary. He would then make his way up to the hotel. On the way, he would call Ruth. After what he'd just been through with Juliet, he needed to hear her voice, feel her calm presence. Her voice always soothed him. He knew she would be cross with him because he was calling her at work, and she would be suitably adorable about it. He didn't care, Harry thought with a smile. He needed her.

* * *

As the security guards were going through Ruth's bags, her mobile rang. Her heart jumped for a moment, but when she looked, it was Adam's name on the screen.

"Yes, Adam?"

"Ruth, slight change of plans. I want Jo to work with Malcolm on the Grid, and I want you at the hotel."

_Oh, please, no_. She had been moving through this up till now, but that would be too much. "That's not a slight change of plans, Adam. Why?"

"Because you also have organising abilities, so we can have you multi-task. We just don't have enough people."

"Adam, please don't ask me to do this. I want … I wish … Adam, can I please work with Malcolm and have Jo come and organise. Please."

Adam was clearly in a hurry. "Look, this is non-negotiable, Ruth, and I don't have time to debate it. Go to the Grid, give Malcolm any information he needs, go home, pack a bag, and get yourself up to the hotel to meet with Harry. He'll tell you where you need to be."

As she pressed the button on her phone, the security guard held out Ruth's bag and she practically ripped it out of his hands. _Bloody marvellous._

Ruth stood at the lift and felt tears beginning to well up. She realised she was feeling sorry for herself. _Well, that won't do, will it, Ruth? Are you going to pool into a ruddy puddle now?_ She pulled herself up to her full height and took a deep breath. By the time she stepped into the lift, she had controlled her tears and increased her anger. That was going to be the way for her to get through this.

She stepped on to the Grid and made her way back to Malcolm's surveillance station.

" Adam wants me at Havensworth."

Malcolm turned to look at her, surprised. "I thought you asked not to go?"

"I did … um … but I was overruled."

Malcolm turned back to the screen. "I apologise if I was insensitive before. What goes on between you and Harry is none of my business." Malcolm was using his psychic powers again, Ruth thought. But what would have been a hard answer to make just a few hours ago was very easy for Ruth now.

"Nothing's going on."

Malcolm turned, hearing the sadness, to see the anger. And he was thinking there was certainly something going on, and it wasn't something small. _Time will tell_, Malcolm thought. _It always does_.

* * *

Her mobile had rung five times. All Harry. She had been a coward four times, and finally answered. It was easy to simulate a bad connection, simply by opening the window of the car. He'd tried to make a joke about getting a room with an interior door, but she cut him off, saying she couldn't hear him. She could tell he didn't quite believe her, and the last words she heard before she switched off were, "Ruth, is everything all right? I've tried to reach you … "

The tears threatened again as she shoved the phone back in her purse, but she shook them off.

She arrived at the hotel and came through the front entrance, and Malcolm and Jo watched on the surveillance camera as she dropped the stub for the car park on the stairs, and bent to pick it up. By this time, Ruth was on a sort of remote control. Her only goal in life was to get checked in to a room and have the most self-absorbed, self-pitying, deluge of a cry she had ever had. It felt as if she was holding back every drop of water in the Thames behind her eyelids, and she didn't know how much longer she could last.

Of course, because this was the way her day was going, the first person she saw as she crossed the lobby was Harry. _Harry, my love. How will I get through this?_ Every memory of the last few days flooded her, and she actually felt a bit faint. She knew every line on his face, the feel of him, and it stabbed her all over again, threatening the tears that wanted so much to come. Harry seemed anxious with the tension of the day and what was expected of him. And Ruth suddenly felt a desire to comfort him, help him, make it easier on him, still. _Even now_.

"Hello." He spoke with the understanding that they were surrounded by people, and, in truth, he still was puzzling why she had been so distant on the phone. Better to keep it simple, and find out later. "I'm glad you're here. We need your organisational skills on this operation." He reached into his jacket pocket. "I've got your pass."

"Um, do I need to organise a room?" It was all she could think of. He was right there, next to her, so close. She had to make a concentrated effort to push the vision of that same face, those same hands from last night out of her mind. _I have to get behind a closed door, to privacy, before I break down completely._

"No, it's all arranged." Ruth looked at him. He had a strange smile on his face, and she realised with a sudden start that although her world had turned upside down, he still didn't know that she'd seen him with Juliet. How could he know? He was acting on the basis of who they were together last night, or the night before, or Saturday.

Ruth saw through the formality he had to use in the lobby of this crowded hotel. She saw _him_, her Harry, still there. _Oh, no, Harry, you didn't_, she thought, _not the room with the adjoining door_. He read exactly that in her look, and quickly said, "_Your_ room. It's your own room."

Ruth answered hastily, "Of course." _Please let this be over. Please let me just go to the room. I can't bear this. Please_.

Blessedly, Harry's mobile rang, and Ruth knew the conversation was finished. "Right."

Harry looked disappointed to have to let her go, but he knew there would be time later. Then he amended that in his mind, he _hoped_ there would be time later. He was so attuned to Ruth now, and he felt something from her, something that couldn't be pinned down. He could only imagine it was the tension of being in a hotel and talking about hotel rooms. Although that wasn't an easy answer, because they had talked about it last night with no tension whatsoever.

A dread started in Harry. An amorphous anxiety of the sort that he'd felt when an op was about to go terribly wrong. His mobile maddeningly rang again. "I'll have to take this. Do you want to … " He pointed toward the reservation desk.

"Sure." It was over. Ruth knew that this was the hardest part, or at least she hoped it was. But as she walked to the hotel desk, she couldn't stop herself from looking back. He was standing in the middle of the crowded lobby, his phone to his ear, and he was looking at her.

The look on Harry's face was unspeakably sad, as if he knew something had changed, and felt powerless to make it right. Ruth didn't know that Jo was on the line.

She watched him speak, and suddenly wished she could read lips. If she could, she would have seen Harry thank Jo for the file she brought to him at the hospital. And if she could hear the other side of the conversation, she would have heard Jo say that Ruth had brought it.

Ruth stood stock still in the lobby across from him as he closed his mobile and held it, slack, at his side. People passed between them in the cavernous space, and the echo reminded her of the church they'd visited on Saturday. She'd never seen Harry look like this before, even through all the deaths and the impossible decisions. This look was different. This was a look of the heart, and if she didn't know better, she would think it had broken. Again, she wanted to go to him, to comfort him, to tell him everything would be all right.

But between them, on the magnificent marble floor of the hotel, Ruth imagined Juliet materialising, and heard again the words she knew would never leave her. "Juliet, I'm in love with you."

Harry started to walk toward her, and Ruth's heart began hammering. Then his mobile rung again. He stopped and held it up to look at the screen. Still with that look of utter despair, Harry shrugged his shoulders and opened his phone. From the distance between them, she could hear him say, resigned, "Yes, Foreign Secretary, I'm here … "

Ruth turned toward the desk. The tears were so close, she thought now she might not make it, but she blinked them back and started walking.


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER TEN**

* * *

Ruth closed the door behind her and, as expected, the flood started. Not just tears, but sobs so loud that she had to ruin a perfectly good pillow with mascara in order to silence them. She felt broken into little pieces and scattered to the wind, as if she no longer existed, which was not only indescribably painful, but frightening to her as well.

Why had she started this? This was what she kept asking herself. Life had been less exciting before she thought to go to Harry's that night, but at least they had each other in some form, they had a friendship. Now that was gone too, because she felt betrayed, and used.

Miserably, she comforted herself with the thought that at least she hadn't slept with him. But she had been so close. And now she knew that was probably why he had stopped her in the alcove. He might not have told her the truth about Juliet, but at least he hadn't gone so far as to use her in that way.

_Juliet._ How does one compete? Paralysed and powerful. When Ruth put herself next to that combination, she felt small as a mouse. And as the sobs began to subside and had moved into just noisy hiccoughs, Ruth could step back a bit. Did Juliet need Harry more than she did? Was she being selfish? _But I love him so much, he's my heart, my soul, my soul mate. How do I let him go?_

From her purse, Ruth's mobile rang. She crawled to the end of the bed where she'd thrown it, and pulled it out. Harry. Of course it was Harry. She was curious about what he would say to her, but she was still crying and couldn't bear the thought of hearing his voice right now. She couldn't turn her phone off completely, because she had to be reachable by the team, so she just rejected the call and it stopped ringing.

No sooner had she put it back in her purse when it rang again. Harry. Well, he wasn't giving up. She sighed and rejected it again. Three more times, then four.

Then a knock at the door. She dragged herself quietly across the room with the pillow still to her face, catching the tears and stifling any noise she might make, and looked through the peekhole in the door. There he was, in the strange fisheye lens, and he looked still ten years older than when she had last seen him in the lobby. She could just barely hear him.

"Ruth. Ruth, please. Please open the door. I only have a few minutes. I have to meet the Foreign Secretary … " He put his hand on the door and she stepped back as she felt it thump softly on her side. Then she put her hand on the door, too, where she thought his might be. So close, the two of them, and with a universe between. "Please talk to me. I need to explain. What you saw … " He stopped as she saw the shadow of someone walk behind him.

_What you saw_. So he knew. _And not so much what I saw, Harry, but what I heard_. What Ruth saw was bad enough, but it might be explained away. She had replayed it over in her head countless times, and the more she remembered of it, the more she thought Juliet had been the one to kiss Harry, rather than the other way round.

_But what he said_. "Juliet, I'm in love with you." Each time it was a fresh wound. The words Ruth had dreamt of, had believed might be true. The perfect words, but with the wrong name at the start. The words that made every moment of the last ten days a lie. Every kiss, every touch, every whispered sweetness, now a lie.

"Ruth … " The door thumped again, this time because Harry was leant against it, as if he needed to be as close to her as he could get. Now he stood up, and looked directly into the lens, directly at her. "I have to go. But I will keep calling, and I'll keep knocking on this door. You can't avoid me forever, my Ruth." He touched the door once more with his hand, then kissed his finger and touched it to the lens. And he walked away.

_My Ruth_. Oh, her heart hurt. She went in and turned on the water to draw a bath. And now she felt strong enough to call Adam and let him know she was here. He told her where the laptop was in the room and let her know she wouldn't be needed for an hour or so. Ruth undressed, still sniffling, and eased herself into the warm water. _I am strong. I will survive this. But something is broken in me now. I can feel it._

* * *

Harry walked away from the door and willed himself into control. He felt split directly down the middle. Right now, all he wanted was to stand at Ruth's door until the end of time if needs be, to wait until they were both old and decrepit if he must, but to never let her see the light of day without seeing him first.

He knew he couldn't do that, and his training told him that there would be time. There would always be time. Was the goal of the Havensworth Summit more important than his love for Ruth? What a question to have to ask, like a mother choosing which of her children to save from some horrible catastrophe. And in his heart, he knew how passionate Ruth was about the aims of the Summit. He knew that she wanted him to do his job.

They would sort this out. He tried to put himself in her position. Tried to imagine the view from behind the glass, looking in at Juliet's hospital room. Tried to imagine how he would feel if he saw the same thing, Ruth with that damned Fortesque or some other bloke, locked in a kiss. And his blood boiled.

Harry understood how she felt, and it made him all the more anxious to hold her, to reassure her, to tell her what he had told Juliet. _I'm in love with Ruth_. He had blurted it out so suddenly, but as he said it out loud for the first time, every part of him thrilled with the truth of it. And he wanted so much to tell her. Already felt the betrayal of having told Juliet something he should have told Ruth first.

So Harry was the one who had suggested to Adam that he bring Ruth into the hotel operation. In his mind he had a fuzzy plan of sorts, to show up as room service. Some soppy romantic thing with champagne, leaving the trackers in a toilet somewhere if he had to, and tell her. Finally tell her what he'd heard in his head for longer than he had even recognised it. _I love you, Ruth_.

Well, that plan was all bollocks now. Damned Juliet, that woman had plagued him for too long. A man makes a mistake when he's young and it follows him like a rabid dog nipping at his heels to the end of his days.

Harry pushed the button for the lift, and leant against the wall with one arm. _Christ, I'm tired_, he thought. His day with Ruth in Henley-on-Thames came back like a breeze off the Irish sea. He smiled, with his eyes closed, and felt her in his arms, saw her laugh about his silly Grand Tour. Then how she looked as she told him about his locked door and the EERIE exercise. Did he even deserve a love so pure?

Harry opened his eyes, and watched as the numbers climbed. Then and there, he decided. He wanted to be with her for the rest of his life. And once he had convinced her of that, he would never again take a chance that something could separate them. Baffled, Harry wondered what that meant. He couldn't even form the word in the privacy of his own head. And as he did it anyway, he thought, _Bloody hell, haven't I told myself that is absolutely never an option in my life, ever again?_

The lift bell sounded, and the doors opened, just as Harry's mobile rang. He stepped in to the lift and stood a little taller, hearing the DG's voice. "Yes, sir, yes. Oh, I see. Well, that's a disappointment, sir. Thank you for letting me know." He clicked off and called Adam. "Meet me for coffee," he said simply, giving him the code word for their safe meeting place by the river.

* * *

Harry spoke as he walked up to Adam under the large tree next to the water. "I've just had a call from the DG about Ros' father. My request for leniency's been turned down. They've decided to make an example of him."

"How many years did he get?"

"Twenty, minimum."

Adam exhaled loudly. "He'll be over eighty when he gets out, she'll be devastated."

"Keep it to yourself," Harry said. "We need her focused on this operation."

Adam's mobile rang, and Harry considered the words he'd just said. He wondered if he was capable of focusing himself. But he realised in that moment that everyone is split down the middle, really. Did he think that his crisis with Ruth was more important that Ros' father going to prison, possibly to die there?

Harry sighed, and placed Ruth firmly in the back of his mind. Adam finished up the call, and pressed a number to make a call himself. Harry heard him say, "Ruth, what do you have on Trainor Styles and ice hockey?" He listened to her answer, and then said, "OK, get me everything on them. Oh, and Ruth, I need twenty black kids to go to the back entrance of the hotel at midday. We need to put pressure on the French."

Adam closed his mobile and looked over at Harry, smiling. "That woman is amazing, Harry. She can do anything. I think I could ask her to bring Jesus Christ round to the Grid and she'd show up, smiling, with him on her arm."

Harry laughed. "I believe you're right, Adam."

_So much for putting Ruth in the back of my mind, _Harry thought, as he headed off to his meeting with the Foreign Secretary.

* * *

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

* * *

It had been a long day, and Ruth was irritable, to say the least. And now, to top it all off, it was just after 2:00 a.m. and the music from down the hall was so loud it could be right in the room with her. She had managed, actually, to spend most of the day in her room, taking meals in, and working from the phone and the laptop. Since the MI5 presence was meant to be somewhat under the radar, it had worked out well for everyone.

Everyone but Harry, that is. He had left messages for her all day. She had been so fragile, she'd simply listened to the first few words of each, and then deleted. She didn't want to hear any explanations, didn't want to be swayed by the sound of his voice, by excuses. She had seen what she'd seen, and she'd heard what she'd heard. Facts were facts. It's like trying to explain the moon away, while it hangs full and bright in the sky as it did out her window tonight.

His last call had been about 10:00 p.m., and she had listened to that one, because she couldn't stop herself anymore. She listened with large tears rolling down her cheeks, holding the phone with both hands as if she were cradling his face. She was ashamed to think that she'd listened to it five times, and had not yet been able to delete it.

His voice was soft and gentle, as if he were holding her and whispering it in her ear. "Ruth. I'm only calling to say goodnight, and to say that my mind is filled with you. I wish you sweet dreams, my Ruth."

Did she have any more tears? As the music pounded through the bathroom wall, she peered in the mirror at her face. Tired, drawn, blotched, old. And so sad, the face that stared back at her. This day had started with her wanting so much to see Harry, and at that time she could never have imagined it would end with her running from him. "But there you are," she said quietly to the Ruth in the mirror, "nothing ever stays the same."

She looked up at the rack on the wall, and fascinated, watched as the towel on it actually shook with the music. "Oh, this is just too much!" she said to herself in the mirror, and went to find her shoes.

She opened the door gingerly, almost expecting Harry to be camping out there. But the space in front of her door was empty. The music was even louder now, and she searched for its location, looking left.

_And there he was_. Almost like the dream she had convinced herself he was. He stood in the white shirt he had worn all day, open at the neck, looking so tired, and so very sad. The same look she had seen in the lobby, but he'd worn it for longer now and it was etched into his face.

For a moment she thought of running back to the safety of her room. But she had spent the day thinking about how she would reconcile what had happened between them with the job she loved and knew she was so good at. She couldn't run forever, and for the sake of her pride and of Harry's authority, she had decided that they would simply agree that the past ten days hadn't happened.

They would go back to their life on the Grid. And really, she had reasoned with herself, they had done that for more than three years, whilst this new Ruth and Harry had only lasted for a little over a week. She had told herself that she would get over him in time, although she knew she would love him forever. Ruth almost fancied herself one of her Jane Austen heroines, or maybe even Jane herself, who had loved once and then lived her life out alone, remembering.

But after a day of reasoning and planning to be rational, it was such a shock to see him suddenly like this, that Ruth almost gave in. For a moment the hours since the hospital drained away from her, and she felt a compulsion to simply walk down the hall and take him in her arms. To feel his heartbeat under her ear again, and feel his warm arms go round her, feel his lips kiss the top of her head.

But that moment passed, and she saw him again with Juliet. The memory snapped her back to hearing the sounds coming from the door behind her. "Uh, music woke me. " He was walking slowly toward her, the same expression on his face. Inexpressibly sad. It threatened to draw her in again, so she said something light and inane. "Never really gone in for Euro-Pop."

Harry wasn't buying it. "It looks like you weren't sleeping at all." His voice was so soft, she almost didn't hear him over the music, "Nor was I." His eyes never left hers. She could tell he was struggling with what to say, what he could say that would allow them to stay in this hallway, that would keep her from going back to her room. She read his thoughts as if he were speaking them, and she read them all through his eyes. _Time for more inanity_, Ruth thought, _or I'll simply take his hand and lead him into the room myself._

"The Italian Trade Minister. He's apparently a bit of a party animal. Caused a scandal at an EU conference last year by insisting on dancing to the Macarena at the last night banquet."

_Oh, his eyes_. Had he been crying? The lines in his face, so deep. He was boring straight through all of her resolve and into her soul with those eyes, and she saw it again. Love. _No! I won't let this happen! He doesn't love me, he only feels regret, perhaps that he's hurt me and he knows it. But sympathy is not what I want from Harry, I want all of him, forever, and I can't have him._

_Get yourself out of here, Ruth, now_. "I'll get the management to ask him to turn it down."

As she turned, she heard it. Her name, spoken in an impossibly soft, almost animal wail from him. Spoken with a question at the end, "Ruth?" as if he was asking her so many questions in that one word. She couldn't answer any of them, so she ran.

"G'night, Harry." And she was gone. Harry stood in the hallway, seeing part of his life go with her.

* * *

In the surveillance room on the Grid, Malcolm watched. Ruth's green square moved quickly back to her room, while Harry's red one made its way slowly back to his.

"Oh, Ruth," Malcolm says, shaking his head slightly. "Our doubts are traitors, and make us lose the good we oft might win by fearing to attempt."

Malcolm bitterly regretted the teasing he'd given Ruth about Harry, and hated to think he might be the cause of this missed opportunity. Ruth would be so good for his old friend, and Harry would be so good for her.

* * *

Harry heard the door close behind him. He walked to the middle of his room, not seeing anything in it. He stood there for a time, just feeling the weight of his breath, the heaviness of his head on his shoulders, the restless way his hands moved at his sides. This was helplessness. Something he vowed, every time he felt it, never to feel again.

Every time someone died, he felt this. And now, it felt as if someone had died. If Ruth could stand in that hallway, nattering on about the Italian Trade Minister while Harry laid himself open to her with his eyes, she was really gone. And if she was really gone, Harry wasn't quite sure how to take a step from the middle of this room into the rest of his life.

He looked at the clock on the table next to the bed. 2:23. Harry had a knack for remembering numbers. When Ruth had knocked at his door on that night ten days ago, he had looked at his watch. And it had been 2:23. Well, he didn't need to be hit over the head with this one. And now he knew he was not going down without a fight.

Harry quickly took off his shirt and changed into another, a casual one. He replaced his trousers with jeans. Sitting down on the bed, Harry considered. For him to be out of touch in the middle of an op was practically a breach of national security. All he needed at this point was an all-out search for the missing Head of MI5. He would need to take someone into his confidence. Ruth would be angry, perhaps, but what did he have to lose at this point? Harry picked up his mobile and punched in one number.

"Malcolm?"

"Harry? Something wrong?" Malcolm was on duty, so it was his job to watch the comings and goings of everyone in the hotel. Boring job at this time of night, really. Most of them were fast asleep in their beds, except for the Italian Trade Minister's suite, which seemed to have a lot of little boxes milling around.

"Nothing wrong, Malcolm. I just wanted you to know that my mobile, my tracker and my pager will be in my bed for a time, and I will not. I am forwarding my mobile to yours. Should it ring, which is highly unlikely, please make whatever excuse you can."

Malcolm smiled and answered without a pause. "Well thank God for that. Glad you two have finally come to your senses."

Harry laughed for the first time since early this morning. "Christ, are there no secrets to be had, Malcolm?"

"Not where you and Ruth are concerned, old friend. We see it. You don't. The proverbial forest for the trees."

Harry held the phone to his ear with his shoulder while he pulled on his shoes. "I need you to keep this one just between us, though. Ruth … well, we …. want to keep it to ourselves, not have it be the talk of the water cooler, yes?"

Malcolm was quick to reply. "My lips are sealed, Harry. I've learnt my lesson. I was afraid I'd botched it for you. Glad to know I didn't."

Harry stood up and sighed. "Well, the jury's still out, Malcolm. Wish me luck."

"You don't need it. She loves you more than you deserve."

"My friend, in that we are in absolute agreement. Thanks."

* * *

Ruth's tears were beginning to subside when she made the fatal mistake of listening to his message again. What was this desire of hers for torture? She told herself it was better to get it all out at once, but she had to admit there was a masochistic deliciousness about it, this sharp pain in her heart. Her life hadn't had much of that before she met Harry Pearce, and it was a blessing to feel alive, which right now, she very much did. Wretched, but very alive.

She had called the front desk to complain, but the music was still blaring. _Oh, what the hell, I wasn't going to sleep tonight anyway_. For a moment, she thought about just going next door and joining in. Have a few drinks, make a fool of herself, and have a real reason to feel terrible in the morning. As opposed to just feeling terrible.

She couldn't get his face out of her mind. His eyes, especially. They were haunting her now, as she listened to his message still again, sniffling, and catching the tears on the same pillow, which was now a complete disaster.

When she finished the message, she forced herself to put down her phone. The music did have a beat, didn't it? _Euro-Pop?_ Where in hell had that come from? She had behaved ridiculously in the hallway, and now was re-living every word, including her favourite one, _Macarena. No wonder he loves Juliet, _she thought miserably, _I'm a proper idiot._

Ruth looked over the offerings of small liquor bottles at the bar in the room. She wasn't much of a drinker, but maybe she could help herself sleep with one of these. As she picked up the tiny Glenfiddich single malt bottle, she remembered what she'd done for Harry's birthday, years ago. She'd stolen into his office early that morning and hidden four bottles of thirteen-year-old malt in the top drawer of his desk, after carefully writing the letters R, U, T and H on them. He had liked that.

The tears started slipping down her face again, and Ruth snapped open the bottle and drank it all at one go. Probably sacrilege, but the burn felt good as she felt it move down her throat. She would have to account for this in her expense report, and it probably cost a fortune, but right now, she didn't care.

Suddenly, along with the beat of the music, Ruth heard a loud bang at the door of the room. She put down the empty bottle, threw the pillow on the bed, and went to look through the lens. By the time she got there, there had been three more loud bangs. She was either under attack, or someone had got the wrong room for the party. She thought it was the latter, but if she didn't stop them soon, they'd wake up the whole hotel.

Ruth put her eye up to the lens and there was a finger on it. Pink and red, pressed hard there, so hard, she could almost read the fingerprints. The banging continued, and Ruth looked around her for a weapon, just in case. A clothes hanger in the closet was the nearest she could find, sturdy and wooden, with a metal hook.

She unlocked the door, leaving the chain latch across it. She held the hanger up behind her head, as a threat. Later, she would reflect on how silly this was, but for now, it felt appropriate.

She opened the door, and there he stood. His face was bloodless and flushed at the same time, and had she not loved him so much, he would have been quite frightening. "Let me in. Now, Ruth." It was Harry from the Grid. It was Harry, telling her she was late for a briefing. Harry, pushing the files off the desk in anger. Her obedience response kicked in, and she pushed the door closed, unlatched the chain, and opened it again.

He strode past her. "Ruth. A word."

Honestly, she was relieved to see him this way. So much better than the haunting eyes that drilled their way into her soul. This Harry she could face without tears. She knew she had to stand up to this one.

Harry stood between the bed and the desk. Now that he was here, he seemed not quite sure what to say. Getting into her room had been much easier than he thought, and he was at a bit of a loss.

Ruth still stood by the door, which had closed on its own. She was determined to be civilised about this, because she was determined that things would go back to the way they were. It was more important to her right now than her broken heart, so she vowed to set that aside and make things right between them.

"Would you like to sit down, Harry?"

"No. Thank you." He didn't know why he wanted to stand there, but it just felt right. The conversation, such as it was, had become quite surreal, however. This day had taken him through nearly every emotion he had in his repertoire, and he was really rather exhausted. Her calm had dissipated the anger that got him up to and through the door, but as he felt it retreating, his heart started to ache again.

It showed in his face as he looked at her, and Ruth felt herself slipping again. _His eyes_.

"You've been avoiding me all day, Ruth. You haven't answered my calls. I know why, and I want you to know what happened."

Now that the adrenaline had left his system, it was replaced by sorrow, and everything he said expressed it. He looked just as he did in the hallway. Both of them simply stared, and both had the same desire in that moment. To stop talking and hold each other. To turn back the clock 24 hours and be on Ruth's sofa, watching Fidget do nothing more dramatic than clean her long, sleek fur.

Harry would gladly have taken that step, but as he moved almost imperceptibly toward it, Ruth flinched and walked around to the window. "I know what happened, Harry. I saw it." Her voice was still calm and steady, but she felt the tears coming again, and willed them away. _Just for now. Later you can cry_.

"No, you don't. You saw something, but it's not what you thought." Harry kept his voice calm as well, and he kept his distance from her. She was like an animal in a cage, measuring her level of comfort by the space between them. This space seemed to be enough, so he left it at that.

Harry was so grateful that he was here, finally talking with her after this long and uncertain day. As she stood by the tall windows with their sheer curtains, the moonlight streamed in, turning her face to white marble. She was so beautiful it squeezed his heart, and he decided maybe it was a good idea to sit down. He dropped himself slowly into the desk chair, not wanting to startle her.

"Ruth, can you tell me what you saw?" Harry hated that he was using interrogation techniques here, in this most important moment. But it was all he knew. And he knew she would probably see through it.

She did, but was grateful for the structure. At least they both knew what they were doing. No shouting, no unchecked emotions. She would listen to him, tell him how much her job meant to her, and make a pact with him that the last ten days would fade from both of their memories. Then they would go on as they had been. It was her only hope for sanity.

She answered his question as if she were in his office after an op. She simply gave him information. She knew if she felt it, she would fall into all those little pieces again. She spoke not to him, but to the bright moon. "I saw that Juliet was crying, and you took her hand. She reached up and pulled your sleeve, and you sat closer to her on the bed. Then … " Ruth paused here, debating with herself, and decided to continue her exact interpretation. "Then, she kissed you."

Harry sighed, glad of her correct view of who kissed whom. He stood and moved slightly closer to Ruth. "That's accurate, all of it. Do you know how I was feeling while this was happening, Ruth?"

Ruth shook her head, her composure beginning to crack. _No, Harry, don't ask me about feelings. Only facts._ She sat back on the window sill, and her breath started to come in short bursts. She felt herself falling over the edge, but was too exhausted to stop it. She was aware that her reserves of control had just depleted. There was no more left.

Her eyes misted, and Harry was suddenly in the blur of her tears, coming toward her, very fast. So fast, she didn't have time to react, and then he was there, his arms around her, feeling, oh God, so good. Smelling so good, his chest heaving as hers was, the sound in his throat the same as hers, both of them breathing their pain into each other.

She pulled back to look at him, and there were tears on his face, too. She touched one of them and looked at it, disbelieving. After all her tears today, Harry cried for her. It was the sweetest gift she could imagine, and before thinking, she leant up to kiss his cheek, to taste them. He turned and caught her mouth with his lips and they held there, suspended, not moving. Harry was afraid to move for fear of breaking the spell, and Ruth was simply floating, now unaware of, or unwilling to face, reality. But then it came.

Harry felt the change, and steeled himself for it. Ruth pulled away, saying, "No!" as she put her hands up to keep him from moving toward her again. "Don't do this!" She backed up to the wall, looking fiercely at him. "I know what I saw, Harry, and I know what I heard."

He tilted his head, truly confused. "What you heard? What did you hear?"

Her eyes were accusing him, and if they hadn't been so deeply hurt, they would have been almost triumphant. "You told her you loved her, Harry. I _heard_ it!"

"I … what?? You were outside the window, how could you hear anything? I _don't_ love Juliet, how could you hear me say it?"

Ruth's anger was subsiding again, overcome by her tears. She began to struggle with her words, choking them out rather than saying them. "You t-took her hands and h-held them, and you said, 'Juliet, I'm in l-love with you.' I-I heard it, Harry. I heard it t-through the w-window." Ruth put her face in her hands and leant up against the wall. She lost her strength completely then, and slid down the wall until she was sitting with her knees up in front of her. Her head fell forward, and she sobbed into her arms, crossed over her knees.

Harry wanted to go to her, but first he had to figure out what she had just said. He stood for just a split second, although it felt like longer, before he understood, finally, the depth of Ruth's pain.

He moved to her and pulled her to her feet, gently. She had no more desire to fight him, and she hung almost limply in his arms, still crying in soft hiccoughs. His arm firmly around her, Harry walked Ruth to the bed, sat her down, and sat to face her.

Taking her face in his hands, he used his sleeve to dab away what tears he could, although they continued to fall, somewhat fewer now. Her face was raw, red, as were her eyes, still filling, even as he looked at her.

"I'm going to tell you what I said to Juliet. What you misunderstood, my Ruth." His voice was so soft, so full of tenderness, that Ruth actually tilted her head a little at the sound of it, as if it were some wonderful rich cloth caressing her cheek. She had no more defences, and she simply waited, listening.

"I took her arms from around my neck, as you saw, because the only person I could think of at that moment was you, Ruth. The only arms I wanted around me were yours." Harry cupped her chin with his hand, speaking even softer. "And I said, 'Juliet, I'm in love with _Ruth_.'" Harry leant in and kissed her, brushing her lips just once, and pulling back. "I love you, Ruth. Only you. Always you."

For a moment, she couldn't believe what she had heard. _You. Ruth_. How similar those words seemed to her now, as she remembered the muffled sounds coming from beyond the window. Still holding Harry's eyes, she replayed the memory in her head, and it sounded different this time.

A small smile played on her lips. "Say it again, Harry."

"I love you, Ruth."

She threw her arms around him, and suddenly the whole world made sense. Nothing that she had felt all day had made sense, but this felt real and true. Not just because she wanted it to be, but because it was. Harry was laughing now, and so was she, both of them kissing each other, on the neck, eyes, cheeks, until finally, their lips found each other and they calmed, quieted into a tender kiss, with no sound in the room but their breath, sighing.

Ruth pulled away and looked at him. "The music's stopped."

Harry looked back at her, a question in his eyes. "Why do you taste like very good scotch?"

They held each other for a long time then, Ruth's head on Harry's shoulder, him stroking her hair. The exhaustion they both felt allowed them to simply dissolve into each other. After long minutes, Harry lifted her head and kissed her again, and pulled away so that he could look in her eyes. She knew it was exquisite torture for him, but she held his look, not speaking. Then she ran her thumb across his cheek, smiling. "Do you want to hear it, Harry?"

His eyes were so full of love she thought she might just melt into them. "I'm patiently waiting, Ruth. I'm a very patient man."

"I love you, too, Harry. So much. And have done for so long."

* * *

Malcolm picked up his mobile and looked at the time. 3:30 a.m. "Harry. How did it go?"

"All clear, Malcolm. I'm taking off the forwarding. Thanks for your help."

"Glad to do it, Harry." Malcolm watched as the red square moved down the hall and into Ruth's room. It blinked for a moment all on its own, and then settled, almost on top of the green square. "Ah, Harry?"

Harry was whispering. "Get your mind out of the gutter, Malcolm. I'm setting my mobile on the table next to Ruth's. Mind your own business."

Malcolm could hear the joy in his old friend's voice as the phone clicked off. Sitting all alone on the Grid at this ungodly hour, Malcolm gave a not-so-quiet shout to the heavens. "Well, Halle-bloody-luia!"

* * *

Harry looked at Ruth, her face still swollen and full from her tears. She looked angelic, sound asleep after a day that had drained almost every bit of life out of her. But she was smiling. Dreaming of him, he hoped.

She was fully dressed, and so was he. He took off her shoes, gently, and laid them on the floor at the end of the bed. Then he took his off, and placed them next to hers. For a moment, he looked at them, and decided he liked the way they looked.

Harry crawled around behind her and formed his body to hers. Ruth snuggled in to him as he curled his arm around her. He had waited so long to say it, and now he couldn't say it enough. He moved his lips next to her ear and whispered, "I love you, Ruth."

She was almost asleep again, but her voice was clear as she whispered back, "Ummmm, I love you, too, Harry."

* * *

**CHAPTER TWELVE**

* * *

Harry woke out of a deep sleep to the sound of his mobile buzzing. He'd left it by Ruth's on the side table, right next to him.

He and Ruth were in exactly the same position as they had been two-and-a-half hours ago when they fell exhaustedly asleep. His arm was still about her waist. Neither of them had moved.

Harry pulled his arm from around Ruth and turned to pick up his phone. It was 6:02 a.m.

"Harry!"

"Malcolm?"

"Time to separate the little boxes, Harry!" Malcolm was half whispering, half shouting, a hard combination to achieve.

"The boxes? What boxes, Malcolm?" Harry clearly wasn't quite awake yet, because this was not making sense to him.

"Yours and Ruth's! Jo is here to take over, and your little boxes are on top of each other!"

Now Harry understood. "Ah, the boxes, yes." He sat up, rubbing his eyes until they opened completely. "Thanks, Malcolm. Where is Jo now?"

"I sent her out for coffee whilst I all but sat on the console. She should be back in about 5 minutes."

Harry smiled. "You're a good friend, Malcolm. I will take my box and go home." He pushed the button on his phone, and leant over to kiss Ruth on the cheek. She was stirring slightly.

He moved from her cheek to her neck, murmuring, "Time to get up, Ruth. I have to go back to my room before we cause a scandal."

She rolled over and looked at him, beginning to wake. "Oh, Harry." She smiled an sleepy smile. "I thought I dreamt it." Ruth brought her hand up and touched his lips. "Say it again so I'll know I didn't."

"I love you, Ruth."

Her smile widened. "Oh, thank God." She rolled over and snuggled into the pillow. "I love you, too, Harry." She started to fall asleep again. " … oh, feels so good to say that out loud … "

Harry kissed her once more on the cheek and pulled himself off the bed. "I'm going … but we have a briefing in an hour ... breakfast … " He was putting on his shoes as he talked to her, "…will you be able to get up?"

Ruth sighed, and rolled over to face him. Her eyes were open, but it was taking an effort to keep them that way. "Yes. Absolutely. I'm practically out the door."

Harry was halfway across the room when he turned to look back at her. She was watching him with a softness in her eyes and the sweetest smile he could ever remember seeing. He had to turn back. He leant over the bed and touched his lips to hers lightly, before he nuzzled his face into her hair near her ear. "I'm very happy this morning, Ruth."

She rubbed her face against him like a contented cat. "And we didn't even do anything naughty last night."

He pulled back and looked at her, chuckling. "I suppose we can now say we have slept together, however."

She laughed and kissed him on the nose. "Go, Harry, before you get us in trouble."

He blew her a kiss at the door, and was gone.

* * *

Gratefully, Malcolm watched as the red box made its way back up the hallway and entered Harry's room. Just as it did, Jo sat down next to him, handing him his hot coffee.

"Anything exciting happen last night?"

Malcolm sighed and raised his eyes to the ceiling. "Oh, God, no. Monumentally boring."

* * *

Day two at Havensworth started quickly, and was definitely not made better for Ruth by lack of sleep. In the hour she'd had to get ready and get downstairs for the briefing, she had attempted to make her eyes look as if they hadn't cried for the entire day before, which she thought she accomplished with limited success. The shower helped, as did the two cups of coffee she made and drank in the room. But her body and head couldn't have felt worse if she _had_ actually gone to the Italian Trade Minister's party and shamelessly danced the Macarena.

Now her heart, that was a different story. Her heart was filled to its capacity, and Ruth couldn't remember ever feeling the happiness she felt this morning. It was a joy of such intensity that there was a small bubble of laughter just waiting at her throat to escape and embarrass her at any moment. Her eyes were in danger of glistening with tears for no reason, and the corners of her mouth utterly refused to stay on an even keel.

The combination of the two, heart and head, managed to disorient Ruth almost to the point of distraction. She sat, nibbling on a croissant as Harry described the news that the Japanese were now planning to pull out of the agreement, and all she could think of was how his lips felt on her neck this morning, how his voice sounded as he told her he loved her, and the feel of just the slightest scratch of whisker on her cheek.

"Ruth." She looked up with a bit of a start. And in the split second she and Harry looked at each other before he began talking again, she saw a warning. She had always been good at reading his thoughts, but the two of them seemed to have joined some new synapses as they slept so closely for those few hours in her large bed. Because what she saw and almost heard was, _Don't let me lose you to this. I'm feeling it too, but not here_.

It wasn't harsh, and it was anything but cold. She felt from him the kind of love that said he wanted this to last and it could only last if they kept themselves separate here. It jolted her awake, took her away from the disorientation, and brought her, full force, into the present. She thanked him for it, silently, with her eyes.

Whether anyone else around the table felt this exchange, Ruth didn't know. In truth, she couldn't imagine that they saw anything any different than the usual tension Ruth and Harry showed to their colleagues. In any case, she looked back at him, expectantly, and was now fully in the room.

"Ruth. You said Styles was on the Board of the Kansas City Flamers, correct?"

"Yes, he has quite a passion for them."

"We need to get Ros into his room and on to his laptop. How would you suggest we do that?"

Ruth frowned slightly as she thought, working it through. "Well, the Flamers went to the Stanley Cup finals in 1985 and won. He's been watching re-runs of games. Ros could take a DVD as a gift perhaps?"

Adam shook his head. "He'll just play it in the DVD player. That won't get us on his laptop."

Ruth said quickly, "No. It will be an American DVD. They don't play on British players. They don't sync. If he wants to watch it, it will have to go into his American laptop. He'll know that."

Harry looked at her. "Good. How quickly can you get one?"

"Very. I have a source." Ruth's eyes were now sharp, and she felt the excitement of doing a job and doing it well.

"Of course." Harry said this with the tone that was familiar to everyone around the table. Cynicism mixed with respect for his quirky analyst. Ruth and Harry both gave an inward sigh of relief.

All was the same. What had happened early this morning had changed them in almost every way imaginable, but it had not changed this. And like two people stepping out on a tightrope wondering if their balance was intact, they found that they felt on familiar footing in the midst of the exquisite feeling of their new connection. Ruth knew she had bobbled a bit, but Harry had put out a hand to steady her.

The meeting dispersed soon after that, and Ruth was in the downstairs command centre for the rest of the day. Truth was, now she was very glad to be here instead of doing the surveillance back on the Grid. She was needed here, and God, she loved this job. The fatigue moved through and out of her, and adrenaline replaced it.

Ruth remembered a conversation with Harry, one she would never forget, in which he talked about "adrenaline withdrawal," the feeling after an operation, after the job was over. That conversation had stuck in her mind for a number of reasons, not the least of which was the crackle of something almost visible in the air between them. He had stood so close to her that she could feel his heat, coming in waves and washing over her.

Up until then, she had known she loved him, but after that charged conversation in the hall, she also wanted him. He had called her a "born spook," and no piece of praise from anyone, ever, had made her feel the way those words did. It resonated within her, as if she had finally found a space in the world that she fit into perfectly, in every degree. A born spook. And standing next to Harry Pearce.

Remembering, Ruth looked up for a moment and stole a glance at Harry, deep in conversation with Adam. It had been real. It had always been real, although she had tried so many times to imagine it was just her own fantasy. The thousands of moments she had felt it since the day she first set eyes upon Harry, whatever the visceral connection was that reached out from him to her and back again. From across rooms or across cities, through fear and worry for each other's safety, respect for each other's intelligence, care for each other's sorrows, empathy for each other's pain, it was real. She knew that now. Even if they had both tried to rationalise it away. It was real.

And yes, this day too would end with "adrenaline withdrawal." Made especially so because of their lack of rest. They would both lie exhaustedly asleep at some point tonight, and Ruth wondered if it would be together or apart. And again, for the thousandth time, she wondered what it would be like to take that visible heat between them and give it free rein.

Ruth knew the "clean white sheets and locked door" should not be at Havensworth. She hoped neither of them would allow it to happen in the middle of an operation, because the operation was too important. But there was something else, too. It was too significant a step to be taken as secondary to something else. They had waited so long, and had already pulled back from the brink once.

Not here. Not now. But in Ruth's thoughts, it was no longer "what if." Now it was "when."

* * *

Ruth knew that Harry's day had been much harder than hers. While she sat comfortably at her computer, he had been all over the grounds in meetings with Foreign Secretary Allen, preparing information to be given to the Prime Minister's Chief of Staff, and making the usual impossible decisions with the weight of their outcome squarely on his shoulders. And he had done it all on two and half hours of sleep. She could only imagine how exhausted he was.

At 9:00 p.m., Harry had finally, mercifully, loosened his tie. The team stood together in the command centre as he wrapped up his summary of the day, "Well done, everyone. We've done everything we can." He began to walk toward the door, his fatigue beginning to show in his voice. "In the meantime," and here, he spoke to the air above Ruth's head as he passed her, "I suggest we all get some sleep." With that he moved out into the hall, soundly closing, almost slamming, the door behind him.

It felt to Ruth like such a personal moment in such a public place. The release of the night before, the sleeplessness before they finally talked, the raw emotion Harry and Ruth shared in the corridor, and in her room after, the almost non-existent rest they managed to steal before the day began, all came back to her. Ruth knew that Harry had wanted to say it dispassionately, but "I suggest we all get some sleep" seemed to have all of that attached to it, and a good dose of anger as well. She knew she wasn't the only one in the room who had felt it.

She understood what he was feeling, because she felt the same way. Last night and this morning had been not only the culmination of years of silence, control and denial for the two of them, but it felt like the beginning of their future together. And it had been firmly placed on the back burner, when both of them wished it could be front and centre, to enjoy in luscious detail every word and touch that came with it. But they couldn't. They were still in the self-denial mode that the operation required of them.

Yes, Harry was a little angry, and, if she admitted it, so was she. Ruth watched him leave the room with concern. When she looked over at Ros and Adam, she saw them exchange a smile that told her what they were thinking, and they were wrong. Ruth was no longer the doe-eyed innocent with a crush on her boss. She was a full-grown woman who had stood toe-to-toe with him, who was his equal, and she and Harry were in love. Ruth would have enjoyed nothing better than to tell them so, but that would have been self-indulgent. _Instead, self-control and self-denial, Harry. I can do it too, my love._

She stood up. "Well, as the Italian Trade Minister's dreadfully loud party kept me awake most of the night, I am going to take Harry's advice." She managed quite well, she thought, to keep her tone even, although she suspected there were more snide smiles crossing Ros' face at present. "See you all in the morning."

* * *

In the lift, Ruth felt her mobile buzz. She pulled it out and read the text message. "Box will be delivered to your door in half hour. Please keep in safe place until morning. H." In 30 minutes, there was a soft knock on her door. After he stepped inside, they stood and held each other for a moment. Harry rested his tired head on her shoulder, and she kissed him gently on the cheek.

"Come to bed, Harry. You're exhausted." They walked to the bed with arms around each other, for both contact _and_ support. "So am I."

Harry turned to face her. His eyes were almost closed already. "I want to ravish you, Ruth, but I fear that's an impossibility. In addition to it probably being a bad idea, considering where we are and what we have to do here." He moved his lips close to her ear as he held her. "I just didn't want to sleep without feeling you next to me."

"My thoughts exactly, Harry." He was wearing a soft gray t-shirt that he left on, but he unzipped and slid his jeans off with unselfconscious speed, revealing a pair of light blue boxers. Ruth smiled as she pushed the button to turn off the lamp, and suddenly the room was flooded from the windows with the light of the moon that was nearly as full as last night.

Ruth also wore a t-shirt, a long one that reached mid-thigh. There hadn't been much time for her to agonise over what to wear on her first real night in bed with Harry Pearce. She had brushed her teeth, washed her face, and pulled out what she would have worn if she'd been alone that night. It was soft and comfortable and seemed to fit the occasion. And although she was bone-tired, she had to admit she felt a little more self conscious than Harry seemed, although it was probably just because she was a fraction less exhausted.

They slipped under the sheets, cool and smooth, and Harry found the same spot behind her that he had occupied for the brief hours this morning. He drew her to him, murmuring, "Christ, you feel good. If I had an ounce of energy … "

Despite her exhaustion, Ruth's heart was beating fast, and she worried that he might feel it in the pulse at her neck where he pressed his lips. He did, and he kissed it again, whispering softly to her, "Is this all right, Ruth? Is it too fast? Do you mind that I'm here?"

She would have turned to him, but knew that might lead to something neither of them really wanted right now. Instead, she took his hand and pulled it tightly around her. "No, Harry, not too fast. " Her heart was beginning to slow now, just because he'd asked her. "It's just … when you've dreamt of something so many times … and, it … it happens … " She was having trouble finding the words, so she simply moved his hand up to her lips and kissed it. "I love you, Harry."

Harry was beginning to fade. "Love you, too." His breath was starting its rhythmic descent into sleep. "And it will get better than this, I promise…"

_Oh, Harry, how could it?_ His arm was warm around her, and she felt as if she were in a cocoon, completely protected by him. She felt his strength and his softness, and her nervousness, her awkwardness, just melted into the contours of him behind her. She hadn't been in a bed with a man since before she joined MI5. All those nights alone, and now this. _Yes, Harry, the best things are worth waiting for._

The sheets were white, the door was locked, and the full moon drew patterns on the floor. As she drifted sweetly into sleep, Ruth knew she would never forget this moment. No matter what happened, no matter how far apart they were from this day forward, she would be able to put herself back here, in Harry's arms, with his breath soft on her neck.


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN**

* * *

At a little after 4 a.m., Harry's phone buzzed next to his head again. This time, one short buzz. He opened it, and the glow from the screen blinded him for just a moment, the moon having already made her path across the sky. It was a text from Adam. "DC call to Styles, encrypted, but may be good news." He knew what Adam meant by it. If Styles was getting a call at this hour, it probably meant that someone in Washington, DC was forcing him to back down and sign the agreement today.

There was a double feeling of relief for Harry. First of all, the Summit might be drawing to a successful close, but secondly, that this was only a text message. If the phone had actually forwarded to Malcolm, if there had been a crisis, this would be a very different moment for him. He saw now, in his less exhausted state, that he probably shouldn't have spent the night here with Ruth. And at the same time, he was very glad he had.

All he had known last night was that he wanted to be with her. Wanted to fall asleep next to her, and wake with her in the morning. Anything else was on the periphery, including the microscopic fact that he was the Head of MI5 and they were in the middle of an operation. Now he knew he should go.

Harry was fully awake now, and the six good hours of sleep he'd been given had done the trick. He rolled over and looked at Ruth, his eyes now adjusted to the dark. She was facing him, and had heard his mobile buzz. She, too, was awake.

"Do you need me?" She was asking him if she should get up and be ready to work, but Harry smiled across at her.

"More than you know."

Ruth smiled now too, a sleepy smile. "Harry, you're such a lovely romantic. That's a very sweet thing to hear."

He moved closer and put his arms around her, loving the warmth and softness that emanated from her body. "And true, Ruth." She snuggled closer, until they were face to face in an embrace. Suddenly, Harry was very aware of what he was doing, and his rested body was beginning to make him aware that this was not a very good idea. But he didn't want to let her go.

Ruth still held him, her head buried in his shoulder where she could feel his arm, the muscles of it, through the thin t-shirt. Her hand was on his upper arm, just below the hem of the sleeve, and she touched bare flesh, the pads of her fingertips moving lightly there. Harry's hand was on the back of her head, gently stroking her hair. She could hear his heart, and just as she realised her own heart was beating faster, she felt his begin to speed, too.

"Harry." It was all she needed to say. She felt him tense slightly, but he didn't move or let go.

"I know. But you feel so good." He tightened his arms around her just a little. He was concentrating on imagining the contour of her body, the shape of it, just by the pressure he felt on his own. At his chest, he felt her softness, the distinct force there where her breasts rose and fell. The cup of the small of her back where his hand now trailed, where the t-shirt had moved up in sleep, above the silk, where he found bare skin.

The casualness of the cotton that separated them, the delicious warmth of sleep, the profound love that was so new yet so familiar; all of these things seemed to make these precious moments together less about sex and more about tenderness, about a deeper knowing. Harry was exploring, on a fact-finding mission, trying to discover his limits in this very pleasant place with Ruth. But he was, after all, a man. And it had been a long time for him. He knew it could become about sex in a split second.

They were both feeling it now. Both were under control, and neither wanted it to end, but they were on the edge. Ruth felt a challenge from him to stay there, and she felt she stood with toes just over the cliff, tingling, keeping her balance. She moved one leg slowly between his, and curled her heel around his calf. She felt the smooth skin there, the silky hair of his legs. Now they had skin caressing skin under the warm softness of the sheets. And it had moved her closer to him, so as he felt her contours, she felt his, lower, the pressure that told her his exhaustion had left him.

"Harry?" This time it was a question, whispered with a sigh into his shoulder. "We could, but do we want to?" He was grateful to her for voicing it, for putting words to his thoughts. He could get a call any minute, and there were things going on that needed his attention. He never wanted to leave this warm, wonderful place. And he had to.

Still he didn't move, but he murmured into her hair. "Oh, I want it, Ruth. But I want it in a different place, at a different time." He paused, and then said, lower, "A time _very_ soon." Ruth giggled just a bit at this, and even that slight movement was exquisite torture for him.

Reluctantly, Ruth unsnuggled and moved away from Harry. There was space between them now, and yes, she thought, it was still charged with their heat. She smiled at him from across the bed. "You may not know it, but you've just given your analyst an assignment. We'll be finished tomorrow, correct?"

Smiling at her, Harry's eyes danced. "Yes."

"Well, Harry, _your_ assignment is to get the world to stop turning around you for a week-end. Just one week-end. It can bloody well do without you."

"Which week-end?"

"This one, starting Friday."

He chuckled softly, his voice going lower still, "Oh, that is good. That's _very_ soon."

She felt safe enough now to move back toward him. Pulling her length against his, she kissed him, holding him tightly to her. She sighed against his lips, softly, "You find the way, Harry. I'll find the place. And I promise you, we won't stop."

Ruth's words, and the seductive way she had spoken them, had an immediate effect on Harry. "If I don't get out of this bed this second, plans won't be necessary." He laughed agonisingly, "Oh, Christ, this is hard to do … " He kissed her on the forehead quickly, and swung his legs over the side of the bed, sitting up and exhaling deeply. He sat there for a moment, sighing, while Ruth smiled and rubbed his back, still lying with her head on the pillow.

He reached around and took her hand, kissing it. "What have you done to me?"

Ruth sat up and put both arms around him, leaning her head on his back. "Not nearly enough, yet, Harry."

He laughed, and she could feel it vibrate through him, as he shook his head. "Still waters run deep, my Ruth. I have seriously underestimated you. At my own peril." He stood up and pulled on his jeans, firmly getting the zip in place before turning and bending to kiss her.

He nuzzled her neck gently, then pulled away and looked at her somewhat gravely. "Tonight we spend alone, I think? We're on dangerous ground here, in more ways than one."

She smiled up at him. "You have a very level head, Harry Pearce. I will make do with the Italian Trade Minister, then."

"Bad girl," he said as he kissed her, smiling. "I am just down the hall. Don't forget that."

Ruth's eyes were soft, full of love. "Never."

He slipped out the door quietly. Ruth snuggled luxuriously back into the pillows and started planning.

* * *

Havensworth, day three, and Ruth sat at the laptop watching with held breath as all the delegates filed into the negotiation room. She spoke into her headset, "They're all there. Harry, I think we've done it. They're going to sign." Just then, across her screen, a red call. Her heart fell. They were so close.

Moments later, Harry came through the door. "Why was I red-called?" She couldn't help herself, she found herself thinking she was so glad he'd gotten some sleep. He seemed rested, ready to face whatever was coming.

Jo patched through an intercepted call. A voice in African accents said, "We shall prepare for an immediate seizure of power. If the Havensworth Operation is successful and Sekoa dead, there will be no way to stop us."

"The Havensworth Operation." Harry's words sent a chill through all of them, and from that point on, there was no time to be thinking of anything else. Ruth was put to the task of researching all staff in the hotel. Harry went out the door to call a recess and talk to Foreign Secretary Allen.

Some time later, Harry came back in to the command centre. Ruth was alone there. Harry asked about the man whose voice they'd heard on the intercepted call. "Any news from MI-6 on Kabate?"

"No." But Ruth had made a discovery, and needed to tell him about it. "Harry, I need to speak with you."

He was already on his mobile again. "Is the complex fully secure?" He shut his phone, and looked back at Ruth. "You were saying?"

"I think there's a connection between Styles and the assassination." His phone rang again, and he picked up. Ruth waited, nervously, until he was finished. Finally, he turned to her.

"What connection?"

She explained that she had found a file on West Monrassa, but couldn't open it. Harry came around behind her and looked on her computer screen at what she was showing him. Ruth told him, "We need Styles to go back online so we can complete the download."

"Then find a way to make that happen." Harry started to walk away, but then turned back, realising that in his hurry he was barking orders at her. He moved his hand toward hers, and, concealed within the folds of her skirt he entwined their fingers. "Alone?" he asked.

She smiled. "Yes."

"Surveillance?" he asked her, with a look that acknowledged that he perhaps should have been paying more attention to Malcolm's briefing about the location of the cameras.

"Not right here," she whispered.

He moved closer to her and brushed his lips across her cheek before putting his mouth to her ear. "I don't know what I'd do without you. You are a marvel. And I thank you for being here." With that, he was off and out the door again.

* * *

The rest of the day taxed every resource Harry and Ruth had in their arsenal. Foreign Secretary Allen ignored Harry's order for no press conference, and an assassination attempt was barely thwarted there. Sekoa filed an official complaint of harassment against Adam, and subsequently, Harry was ordered to disband the MI5 presence at Havensworth. In between, Ruth was asked to garner information that she could only get by using her wits and a talent for the dramatic, which again surprised Harry.

Finally, everyone found their way to their beds, and the hotel quieted. Ruth couldn't wait to get to her room and lounge in a hot bubble bath. After a time, she towelled off, dressed again, and thought she would go down to the command centre to do some more research into places she could take Harry for the week-end. As she was moving toward the door of her room to leave, her mobile rang.

"Hi." Harry's voice sounded tired, so tired.

"It's almost over, Harry. Just tomorrow, and then we go home. Are you all right?" She wanted him next to her so that she could ask the same question with her arms around him.

"I'd like it to be tomorrow." She heard him sigh, and then lower, he murmured, "I'd like it to be tomorrow night, actually."

Ruth smiled. "I miss you too, Harry. I just got out of a hot bubble bath."

She heard him exhale loudly, but there was a smile in his voice, "You're a wicked girl to torture me, you know. Here I sit at the hotel bar, all alone, having ordered my first of two scotches. I will drink them slowly, savouring them, and then will toddle off to my bed, all alone. And you talk of bubble baths. You probably smell of roses or some such … "

"Lavender."

"Yes, well, lavender will do." Ruth heard the clink of his glass.

"You could come here and smell for yourself." She knew she was playing with fire, but in this moment she wanted him so much, she would be willing to break the pact they had just made this morning.

"No, I can't, and you know it. It would end badly." He took another sip, "Well, not badly, actually … Probably quite nicely … " Harry took a pause, and spoke more softly. "Ruth, tell me again why I'm not crawling in bed with you tonight?"

She laughed quietly, "Because you're the Head of MI5 and you're a very responsible person, Harry. And a very strong one. Stronger than I am, so don't you dare knock on my door tonight. I won't be responsible for my actions. " She whispered into the phone, "I'm much weaker than you are, I promise you."

"I'm counting on it." Harry sighed loudly. "All right. I shall be strong, Ruth. But you had better be making plans to spirit me off somewhere and have your way with me. I won't last much longer."

"Don't stay up too late, Harry. Dream of me. I'll be dreaming of you."

"Then may we meet in our dreams, dear Ruth." His voice went so soft she had to close off her other ear to hear him. "I love you, you know."

Ruth sighed, smiling. "I know you do, and it's a miracle, Harry. A wonderful miracle. I love you, too. Sleep tight."

She heard the phone click off. For a moment she just sat where she was, letting his words wash over her. Better than the hot water, better than the lavender that wafted from her skin. _I love you, you know._ She did know.

She moved quickly down to the command centre, and turned on her computer. Flipping on the surveillance feeds, she went straight to the one labelled, "South Bar." A short scan and then a zoom, and she had him.

As she watched him sip his scotch, she thought how lonely he looked. And a strange feeling suddenly came over her as she realised in wonder how much _her_ love added to _his_ life. She was so overwhelmed with what he gave her, that it hadn't yet occurred to her that she also gave him a gift.

And all she wanted to do in that moment was pick up the phone and tell him to come to her room, and the consequences be damned. In fact, she picked up the receiver. _I want to make love with you, Harry. Here, tonight, then you can go back to your room. One hour, maybe two. Then you can go back to being the Head of MI5. Tonight, I want you._

But she didn't. She hung up the phone. And she channelled her energies into searching through websites for the next hour, looking at hotels with clean white sheets and locked doors. And her new additions to the list of requirements: a claw-foot tub and 24-hour room service.

* * *

The next day was a blur to Ruth, but she saw Harry make one of the hardest decisions he'd ever had to make. One she knew she couldn't have made. Gabriel Sekoa had to be stopped, and when Harry said to the team, "I want no one else involved. The next hour never happened," he was giving the order to have a high-ranking official of another country killed.

There was no need for Ruth to reconcile this Harry with the one she knew. They both worked from a combination of head and heart, and although most of the people around Harry saw the way he used his intellect, Ruth saw the heart in everything he did. Her only regret was that she couldn't reach out and touch his arm to let him know she agreed with his decision. The room was full of people, so she had to make do with her eyes. She knew he saw it, the look that told him he was a good man, and had done what he had to do.

Harry and Ruth travelled back to London separately, of course, although Harry wanted very much to have her in the car with him. She could have calmed him, helped him to find his centre again, as she always did. Instead, he drove back in his car, and she in hers, and they talked via mobile until he was called away by the Foreign Secretary. But she had a chance to tell him that in the end, although two lives were lost, those lives prevented the genocide that would have taken many thousands more. Again, Harry had made the decision for the best outcome possible.

As Harry drove the final kilometres home, he thought of Ruth and her sweet, reassuring voice in his ear. So many years of making decisions, agonising alone over their meanings and consequences, with no one to talk to about them. He thought gratefully that it was as if he now had another moral compass to consult, a woman with integrity and intellect, with heart and compassion, who would tell him honestly if he was off track. Harry knew he still had to make the hard decisions, but he knew she would ultimately tell him the truth as she saw it. He trusted her almost more than he trusted himself.

Of course, he thought with a smile, he had always had her there. To frown at him as he used the gender-specific "brotherhood." To call him a bastard when he had, indeed, been one. To tell him when he was being too hard on another member of the team. She had always been there, and he had always counted on her for that.

But now, Harry felt as if she stood like a rock beside him. And in some part of him, Harry knew she would always be there. That he would see her eyes, even when she wasn't present. That he would look to those eyes for answers as he weighed options. Even if he couldn't see her.

* * *

Ruth watched from her desk. There were still people on the Grid, filing reports, organising the Havensworth files for storage. Harry knew she was there, because he had looked at her from time to time from his office as he watched the news to see how the Summit was being reported. Although he had gently smiled at her, his eyes were looking particularly haunted tonight. Ruth wanted to be sure he didn't need her before she left for the evening.

They had decided to go to their own homes for the night, to pack and arrange for the pets. Scarlet would spend the week-end with Adam and Wes. Phoebe and Fidget would make do with a large bowl of food and water and a neighbour looking in. Harry and Ruth would be leaving tomorrow evening for the week-end she had promised him. The Windsor Guest House in Bath had the history that Harry would love and the privacy and amenities for Ruth. There would be only 12 other sets of guests there, and yes, there was a claw-foot porcelain tub.

They would have dinner tomorrow evening in the sunset of Bath, and then they would retire to their room. Ruth had chosen the burgundy room, with its tall windows and deep wood furnishings, because she thought Harry would like it.

As she peered at Harry from the shadows, she tried to imagine how she would be feeling twenty-four hours from now. A thrill went down the back of her neck. They would certainly have made love by then. Their time together at Havensworth was so fresh in her mind, she could still feel him curled behind her as they slept, still taste his lips on hers. After all this time, twenty-four hours seemed such a short time to wait, but oh, how she wanted him.

Harry had told Adam that he was going away for the week-end with some Army cronies in Northern England and that he was not to be disturbed unless it was a national emergency. Adam understood. Although Havensworth had been a gruelling experience for Adam, he said he welcomed the responsibility, and was willing to be on call for three days. Harry thought Adam may have suspected he was not being told the truth, but to his credit, he didn't press.

Ruth was tired, and began to collect her purse from the lower drawer of her desk, when suddenly, she heard Ros' quick step coming around the corner. Ros passed in front of Harry's office, clearly angry, and walked around to enter. Harry turned off the news and looked down, as if he knew what was coming and was steeling himself for it.

"You said you could help him. You said you could reduce his sentence!"

"Ros, I said I'd try, I never promised I … "

"Twenty years, Harry." Ros was starting to cry.

Harry moved around his desk to face her. "It wasn't possible, I'm sorry."

Their voices were lower now, and Ruth had trouble hearing, but she knew this was about Ros' father. Harry had told Ruth, late at night, about his decision to withhold personal information from a member of the team so that they could do their job. He hadn't given her the specifics, but Ruth now knew this was what he was talking about. Harry and Ruth had talked about how hard it was to stay focused when a personal issue was so demanding, as they both knew first-hand. Now Ros' voice was rising, and Ruth heard her clearly.

"What right do you have to make judgments on my personal life? Your own isn't exactly a shining example, is it? The fact that your own existence is a walking disaster zone does not give you the right to make judgments on other people's." With that, Ros stormed out of his office, leaving Harry to sit on the edge of his desk, head in hand.

Ruth's heart clenched. Harry's personal life was infinitely better than anyone knew, but they didn't know because he was honouring Ruth's request to keep it a secret. How many smiles had she seen from Harry in the last two weeks? How much laughter had she heard? No one else knew. Harry seldom laughed on the Grid. She had actually only heard it twice in all this time. Of course Ros thought his personal life was a disaster zone. From where she stood, it looked to be.

She couldn't leave him like this. Ruth searched around to see those still on the Grid. There was no way she could do what she wanted to do, take his head and lay in on her chest, hold him, kiss him, let him know that he was dearly loved. And she knew she couldn't just leave.

When she stepped into his office, he was still lost in Ros' words. He didn't look up until she spoke.

"Hi," Ruth said, as she moved toward him.

He could see that there were still people outside his window. They agreed wordlessly that this would not be what they wanted, but he was still so grateful to have her near. "Hi," Harry said, sadly.

Ruth spoke softly, looking deeply into his eyes. "I … um … just wanted to say, about Ros. That you were right." He looked back at her, wanting her comfort. "It's not your fault, Harry."

Those were the words he needed to hear, and from the woman he loved. "Thank you." The gratitude in his voice, so soft, so genuine, made her very glad she had risked venturing into his office.

Harry and Ruth nodded to each other, a silent acknowledgement of the words they wanted to say, but couldn't. They knew they would have the whole week-end to say whatever was in their hearts. Just not now. But Harry knew Ruth had taken a chance coming in like this, and he told her with his eyes what it meant to him.

Ruth knew she wouldn't see him again tonight, although he would call her to tuck her in. "Good night." She said the words, but she couldn't leave without touching him. With her body as a shield to anyone who might be looking on from the Grid, Ruth put her hand on Harry's arm and squeezed. Harry felt it and heard what it said. _I love you_. And he silently said the same to her.

* * *

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN**

* * *

"And when will you be telling me exactly where we're going?"

"Just get on the M4 and drive west, Harry." She reached a hand up and touched a spot she loved, the curls just at his neck. "Patience. Isn't that your mantra?"

"Yes, patience. Harder to achieve when you're the one doing the driving, but I will be patient." He smiled at her and then gave his attention back to the road.

As he negotiated the twists and turns of the city, they had some moments of silence. As soon as he turned on to the M4, Harry took a deep breath and reached over to take her hand.

"I need to ask you a question." He paused for a moment, weighing his words. "Are you nervous right now? Because I actually find myself rather overwhelmed with it." He squeezed her hand, but he kept his eyes forward. "A little like the day on the roof when I asked you to dinner."

Ruth smiled softly back at him. "Yes, I'm nervous. Like school. Like making a speech. Like making love for the first time. Like waiting for you to pick me up for dinner. Yes. " She turned and looked at him. "And you didn't seem at all nervous on the roof. You said you'd go anyway, even if I didn't say yes."

"I would have. But what a lonely dinner that would have been. Worse than if I'd never asked." A wistful smile crossed his lips. "I thought I was happy before you charged into our briefing room that day. Or if not happy, then at least content with my life. If you charged back out now, I wonder if I could go back to who I was then. I suppose that's what makes for the nerves, Ruth."

Ruth leant her head back and gazed at him. "And what makes you think that I would charge back out?"

"Well, yes, that's the question, isn't it? I suppose the fact that we are on our way to spending nearly 72 hours together nonstop, in, I assume, various states of dress and undress, without the usual distractions of global terrorism … "

Ruth laughed. "Cripes, Harry, if you put it that way, then, yes, I'm bloody terrified!"

He looked over at her with just the hint of a smile. "And that is the dilemma, for a man of my age and temperament? God, I love being here in this car with you, going … well, going _wherever_ we're going ... But aside from the … er … _physical_ requirements … I'm rather set in my ways, used to a small dog who asks only food, water and a tuck behind the ears now and then? "

"My requirements exactly, Harry. We'll get on well together." She reached as far as her seat belt would allow and kissed his shoulder. Then Ruth's face grew serious, because she could see Harry was still worried.

"Harry." Ruth said. He still kept his eyes on the road.

Ruth spoke more firmly. "My love."

And now he turned to her with that familiar softness in his eyes. "Yes."

She leant back again, the same softness about her. "I can see I'll have to get soppy to convince you. Know this, Harry. You are the love of my life. You could spend the next 72 hours barking at me, and it would still be true. And we could spend the next 72 hours holding each other fully clothed, just as we did at Havensworth, and it would be a perfect week-end."

Harry's eyes were still forward, but he took the hand he held, brought it to his lips, and kissed it. Ruth tickled his cheek with her fingers. "And yes, I'm enormously nervous. More that you, I'm certain. It's been a long time for me, Harry. I'm hoping loving you will help me to bloody remember how to do it."

Harry chuckled softly. "Yes, well, there's two of us." After a pause, he turned to her again with a question in his eyes. "You don't have to answer this if you don't want to."

Ruth smiled at him. "I don't think there's anything I wouldn't tell you."

"How long _has_ it been, Ruth?"

Ruth continued to look at him and stroked his cheek. "About three weeks before I charged into your briefing room."

"Ah, interesting." He put his hand up to hers on his cheek, and exhaled. "Miraculously, about the same for me, although I don't even keep this in my diary. Might have been a week before you came through the door, but never after." He kissed her hand again and placed it on her lap. "Once you said 'Bugger the Home Office' I think I was done for."

Ruth laughed. "Yes, well, romantic words, those."

Harry smiled, but he was still serious. "I think, as I got to know you, I began to want to be worth more. I suppose I wanted to be worth _you_. So I stopped."

"Stopped what, Harry?"

Ruth could see that he was getting ready to tell her something he had never told anyone. She could hear it in her head, feel it in his eyes, although he wouldn't look at her.

Harry sighed. "Stopped taking various legends out to the bars and using them to get women to sleep with me." He looked at her quickly, then. "Not very often. I only did it a few times." Turning back to drive, he said, softly, "I couldn't very well be Harry Pearce, now could I?"

"Oh, Harry." Ruth reached over and squeezed his arm gently. "You've given your life to the Service. It had to give you something back."

"The first time was kind of a game. I'd had too much to drink, I suppose. It was easy to be someone else, so uncomplicated. And, in truth, I did want to be someone else. At its best it made me feel James Bondish. At worst … well, at worst is what it began to feel like." Harry raised his eyebrows, still looking ahead at the road. "There you have it. Not the nastiest part of me, certainly, but something I wanted you to know." Now he turned to her, and his eyes were sad. "You of such pure love, Ruth."

She simply gazed at him, not moving. "Purer, now. Steady as a rock, Harry. Unchanged. Actually, stronger, because you told me." She broke his gaze and looked down at her hands. "People are meant to be with people. We find ways, whether they're right or wrong." Looking back up at him, she asked, "You're Harry Pearce with me, yes?"

"Yes. Completely. I've never told that to anyone, Ruth."

"Good, then. I'm not interested in James Bond. Mother always said, 'Never go out with anyone prettier than you are.'"

Harry finally laughed at that. "Good advice, and you're on very safe ground with me."

"Not to contradict you, Harry, but I think you are quite the most beautiful man I've ever seen." Harry looked at her, at first thinking she was joking. When he saw that she was in earnest, his face softened into a smile.

"Then I am the luckiest man on Earth." They sat in silence for a time, watching the road speed by, lost in their own thoughts.

Finally, Ruth took a deep breath and spoke again. "And now, my turn. I want to tell you why I left GCHQ."

"You wanted to be a spy?"

"Yes, being a spy is why I wanted to come to MI5. What I want to tell you is what I was running from at GCHQ."

"Ah … " Harry pursed his lips, but the answer came to him immediately. "A man?" Harry was amazed at how this sudden realisation hit him, right to the gut. Of course, how could someone as wonderful as Ruth Elizabeth Evershed not have had complex and passionate relationships. In wonder, in a split second, Harry was jealous. _Bloody hell._

Ruth began slowly. "We worked in the same department. I cared for him, but not as much as he cared for me. He was very sweet and attentive. I knew I wouldn't fall in love with him, but I went out with him, and continued to, long after I should have done."

Harry had to hear it all. "So he was the one, three weeks before you came to the Grid?"

"Yes." Ruth looked at Harry, to gauge his reaction, but Harry's face was impassive as he looked at the road. "And to put into perspective the talk I had with you in your office recently, Harry, there was _so_ much gossip about it in the office. I tried to break it off gently, but bloody everyone was talking about the two of us together."

Ruth looked out the window, the pain fresh on her face. "Why do people laugh at such important things? What is it that amuses people about two human beings reaching out for each other? It hurt us very much, and so compromised our work."

"He made the mistake of telling someone in the office that he loved me, and was thinking of proposing. They set up a huge party after hours, and he convinced me to come. He dropped the ring into my glass of wine, and suddenly everyone in the room was quiet. Waiting for my answer."

Harry took Ruth's hand in her lap. "And your answer?" The words caught in his throat, although he hoped she wouldn't notice. He knew what she must have said, but he felt for her so deeply, what that must have been like for her, that it hurt him to even ask.

"Of course I said no. I didn't love him." Ruth's voice was so soft, Harry had to strain to hear her. "I handed the glass of wine back to him, said 'Sorry,' and walked out." Ruth put her hands up to her face, remembering. "Oh, God, how monstrous it felt to do that to him. But I couldn't say yes, because I didn't love him. And of course, next day, it was bloody business as usual at work."

"Oh, Ruth. I'm so sorry. That must have been terrible."

"He never really spoke to me after that, not really. He was understandably mortified. And then, no one else could leave it alone. They simply _had_ to talk about it. Some well-meaning, some just mean. You know, these women saying, 'You're alone, he's alone, we thought you didn't want to be lonely anymore.' As if I would agree to spend the rest of my life married to someone I didn't love, just to keep from being alone."

"Many do, Ruth."

"Not me!" Ruth turned to him, and he was surprised by the emotion behind her words. She exhaled. "Sorry."

"Ruth. No need. I understand." Harry looked forward again. "I know what lonely is. And I've not been willing to compromise, either." He looked back at her. "So that's why you asked to be seconded to us?"

"Yes." Ruth took a pause, and then continued. "And it's why I was willing to spy on the Grid in order to make it happen. I think I would have done anything to get away from there."

"I'm glad you told me that, Ruth. It was something I'd always wondered about. When Tom told me you were the one that had leaked the information to Downing Street, it seemed so unlike you. Now I understand you really had no choice."

"Thank you for that, Harry." They drove in silence for a time. Finally, Harry spoke.

"Ruth, there's something I have to tell you. I should have told you years ago. And if I don't tell you now, I never will."

* * *

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN**

* * *

"What, Harry?"

"I've thought of telling you so many times, but I'm not a great believer in superstition, or the occult, or … or ... dreams. I believe in reality, in what I can touch and see."

Ruth gave him a puzzled look. "Dreams can be teachers, Harry. This is about a dream?"

"Yes, the night of the first day you showed up on the Grid." He looked over at her, his eyes searching hers. "I seldom remember my dreams. This one was very different."

"Do you want to pull over, Harry? Take a break and just talk?"

He shook his head. "No, I'm not sure I'd tell you then." He leant his arm on the door, and ran his fingers through his hair. "Christ, I'm not sure I can tell you anyway. It feels completely ridiculous, and you'll think me insane. But it's as real to me as if it happened, and I've never forgotten it."

"So are you worried I'll think you ridiculous if you tell me about a dream you had three-and-a-half years ago that still seems real to you, Harry?"

"Yes," he said, shaking his head again. "And bloody well you should."

"I won't. Because I believe in dreams. I think they tell us things we can't hear any other way." Ruth put her hand on his leg. "Tell me, Harry. I think you want to."

Harry took a long moment, both hands on the wheel, looking straight forward. The set of his mouth told Ruth that he was still debating whether this was a good idea, so she let him be. Finally, he spoke, but he still couldn't look at her. "I want you to know that I'm not implying anything by telling you this. There is no secret message here. I want to tell you this because I love you, and want you to know the things that affect me deeply." Now he looked at her. "This is not a question I'm asking you, Ruth. It's a thing I'm telling you."

The puzzle still wasn't clear in her mind, but she thought the best thing to do was keep quiet and simply nod.

Harry took a deep breath and continued. "That night, after first meeting you, I dreamt we were … together … we were … living together … and … " Harry sighed and leapt. " … married."

_Not a question I'm asking you, a thing I'm telling you._ Ruth's mouth opened, but she couldn't think quite what to say, so she said, "Ah." Inadequate, but the only thought she could manage to form.

Now that he had said the dreaded word, Harry was speaking quickly, wanting to fill in the spaces for her. "You have to understand, that state is something I gave up long ago. Absolutely without question. I could never be a good husband, would never be faithful, would break any woman's heart with my dedication to my work and my damned irascibility. I would live out my days alone. This was a fact for me. It was a fact that night when I went to sleep, and it was a fact for a long time afterwards. But the memory of that bloody dream refused to go away."

Harry couldn't look at her. Ruth was speechless. She wracked her brain for something to say that would make sense, and simply couldn't come up with a single word. Thank God Harry still had more to say.

"Every time you walked into my office, into the briefing room, the vision of us together would come back to me. It was as if it was a real memory, had really happened. I may have controlled it well, because I'm trained to do that, but I've struggled with that blasted dream all this time, telling myself it wasn't real. And I still can pull those feelings out, any time I want to, and be there again. I thought I was going mad for awhile."

Harry shook his head, his voice rising, "It's a goddamned schoolgirl's dream, Ruth." He still hadn't turned to her. He breathed deeply, and when he started talking again, his voice had calmed. "And I'm telling you this now, because it has been in the background of every word I've ever spoken to you and every thought I've had while I was with you. It is a part of my memory, just as our nights at Havensworth will always be a part of my memory, as will this drive with you today."

Ruth didn't want to say anything to make him regret telling her, so she felt she needed to tread carefully. But she had so many questions now. She picked the one that came first to her lips. "Were you happy? In the dream?"

Harry finally managed to look at her. He smiled. It seemed a combination of his gratitude for her not telling him to turn the car around, and for her calm and matter-of-fact way of asking, as if everything he had told her made perfect sense. He let out a low laugh. "Yes. I felt the way I've felt for much of the last two weeks, Ruth. Yes, happy."

Ruth reached up and brushed her fingers across his cheek. "Well, that's good, then."

Harry looked at her incredulously. "That's it? That's all you have to say?"

Ruth laughed. "Oh, no, not nearly, Harry. I have a thousand things to say, and a thousand feelings to go with them." Ruth moved her hand down to his neck. "But I want this week-end with you, and talking about the terrifying aspects of matrimony might not be the best way to get you in the mood."

Now Harry laughed too, a full, relieved laugh. "No, I don't suppose it is." He captured her hand in his own. "Thank you, Ruth, for listening. I feel rather less mad now, and very glad to have gotten that out."

He kissed her hand, and kept his eyes on the road ahead. Now his voice was soft, and Ruth committed every word to memory as he spoke. "We'll move on from this conversation now, but if I should ... if you should hear me say again that there is something I should have told you years ago … " Harry looked directly at Ruth, his brown eyes full of love, " … we will talk about this. And it may be a question."

* * *

"Take A46 at Junction 18, Harry."

Now he smiled at her, with a look of understanding about their destination. "Ah, Bath." He shook his head, "I should have known. And what Jane Austen heroine will be holding our reservation? Elizabeth Bennett? No, too obvious. Someone obscure, like … um … Lady Susan Vernon?"

Ruth gave him a light push. "Harry! How well you know me! That was the one I was considering!" She laughed as she raised a hand to cover her eyes in embarrassment. "I didn't think anyone else had ever _heard_ of Susan Vernon!" Ruth uncovered her eyes and looked over at him. "But, no, I started thinking about it, and realised every love struck girl in Britain must come here and reserve a room as Eleanor Dashwood or Catherine Morland. Must be endlessly tiresome for the desk clerks."

"Then what name? Certainly not your own. Not a good spook like you, Ruth."

"No, Harry. It's under Elizabeth Bickley. My mother's maiden name."

"And I am to be … Lord Bickley? At least give me time to formulate a legend before we scandalise Bath."

"God, Harry, I hadn't thought that far ahead. Are people still scandalised about unmarried consenting adults sharing a room? It hadn't even occurred to me."

Harry nodded. "I suppose you're right. I simply like to have all my ducks lined up, just in case. So what was your grandfather Bickley's name?"

"Reginald."

"Lord Reginald Bickley it is, then."

Ruth burst out laughing. "Oh, Harry, no! I can't share a room with my bloody grandfather, even if it is just his name! Find another."

Harry didn't miss a beat. "William Arden, then. Investment banker. Or, as my favourite Intelligence Analyst once so quaintly put it, 'a big swinging dick.'"

Ruth tried to look innocent. "I didn't make that up, Harry. That's what they call themselves."

Harry tilted his head and smiled. "Yes, I'm sure they do."

Ruth looked quickly at the map. "Harry, concentrate. You need to take the London Road exit, then on to Cleveland…"

Harry turned and then turned again, and Ruth said, "There it is!"

They looked up to see a lovely building with a tan brick front, wrought iron fence, and ornate entrance with flagstone walkway. It was three stories tall, and Ruth knew their room was on the top floor overlooking the courtyard. It was utterly charming.

The Windsor Guest House was perfect for their week-end, and Ruth smiled at Harry as he looked back at her with a contentment she hadn't seen in quite a while.

* * *

They managed to put their things away in the closets and bureaus with a minimum of awkwardness, but each of them was all too happy to get on to dinner and a glass, or three, of wine. The bed seemed huge in the room, and it was. A beautiful queen-size mattress with a soft burgundy and gold spread, thick and lush. Neither of them could suppress the exhilaration and the nervousness the thought of that bed brought forth.

The restaurant recommended by the clerk was The Moon and Sixpence, a favourite of the locals. It was set back from the street, calm and secluded, with a lovely, international cuisine and an extensive wine list. Harry ordered a bottle of white burgundy, and Ruth appreciated the romance of his choice.

They talked about nothing and everything. The wine began to loosen them, and soon they were relaxed, allowing their natural companionship to flow. At some point in the conversation, each of them received a stern inward lecture about the absurdity of nerves in this particular situation. They loved each other very much, and it would be as it would be.

The dinner over, the bottle empty, they walked back to the hotel, hand in hand, utterly captivated with where they were and what they were doing. Upstairs in the lift, and through their door. Then the twist of the lock.

Ruth put her purse on the table and turned. Harry still stood at the door, gazing at her, and the look in his eyes was one she hoped to hold in her mind forever. As she looked at him, she saw all the Harrys she had known, and watched them blend into this extraordinary, multilayered man who now owned her heart. The heart that was hammering in her chest, despite the wine, despite all her lectures to herself.

The light in the room was soft, from a small lamp on the desk with a burgundy cover. It pooled there where she stood, but Harry was still in the half-light, and the bed was dimmer still. The colour of the room gave them a sort of glow, both of them. Ruth thought the glow could have been the wine, or the love they felt for each other, which was so strong right now it was a palpable thing in the room.

Harry was moving, coming toward her. In his eyes was a look of wonder, and she felt clearly that it was due to her, due to the fact that he loved her so much, and could almost not believe she also loved him. He put his arms around her and held her, wordlessly, for some time. She could feel his heart, and yes, it was pounding just as hers was. It was as if he wanted her to know how important this was to him, and that his heart would tell her so.

Then, gently, he pulled away, and leant down to kiss her. His lips, so soft, tasting delightfully of white burgundy and a hint of the chocolate and raspberry dessert they had shared. First he just brushed her lips, tenderly, and then pressed more insistently as he felt her respond to him. Her head was spinning just a bit, and Ruth gripped his arms tightly in case she should lose her balance.

Now he opened his lips, and she was lost. Nerves gone, awkwardness disappeared. She loved Harry so completely, and her whole body yearned to show him how much. Her arms went up about his neck and she clung to him as they kissed, as if for her life.

Harry felt her length against him, and was reminded of Havensworth, the delight of her body next to his. And now, because there was no more need to wait, because nothing was going to stop them, he wanted it all.

Still kissing her, he led Ruth the few steps to the side of the bed. He pulled away, reluctantly, from her lips. Harry looked at her, so lovely with her flushed cheeks, her love for him so fiery in her eyes, and he whispered, "I love you." But that didn't seem enough, so he said it again, more insistently, this time against her lips, "I _love_ you."

It was almost a cry, and it came from a place so deep inside him, Ruth responded with her own, repeating the words against his lips. Now she wanted to feel his skin under her fingers, and her hand went from his face down to his neck and to the top button of his shirt. Her other hand joined in the task of unfastening the buttons, each in turn, until she had his shirt open. She pulled it free from his jeans, and allowed herself to slowly encircle him, until her hands were at his back.

The combination of soft skin over muscle sent her hands exploring still further, as she traversed his back and then moved around to his chest again, feeling the skin there, like silk, and grazing her fingers across it. Harry moaned softly, locked in the kiss that now threatened to engulf Ruth completely.

Harry felt her nails softly tracing lines on his chest, and shivered. He was no longer worried about being able to make love, now he wondered if it could happen fast enough. Aware that his chest was now bare against her blouse, he wanted to feel her skin against his. Gently, he moved his hands to her neck, and felt the buttons there. One by one, he undid them, until he slid the blouse off of her arms and it fell to the floor. There was the feel of cool satin, so smooth, so soft against his chest.

Ruth pulled away from the kiss, and as she held his eyes, she reached to the hem and pulled the camisole quickly over her head. Now she was bare to the waist, with a look that was somehow vulnerable but challenging, shy but passionate. Harry gazed at her, so beautiful in the gold light, her breasts perfect, the delicate line that fell between them causing a rise of light and dark in the shadows. He shrugged off his shirt and bent to kiss that line, tasting sweetness, and finding just the hint of lavender.

All this time, he thought, and he had never touched her. He had in his dream, of course, and had re-lived it a thousand times since then. But wonderful as that was, it was nothing like this. This woman he loved so completely, with his soul, and still he had so much learn about her body. It was like discovering a new and magnificent land.

His hands moved up to hold her, each breast enclosed in the warmth of his palm, fitting perfectly. He bent to kiss her again, and Ruth pulled him to her, pressing their bare skin together. She could feel him now, straining against his jeans, and she reached her hands down to free him. She unclasped the button, and then the zip, and hooking her thumbs into the waistband, pulled down on his jeans, taking his boxers with them.

Harry did the same with her skirt, the elastic of the waistband giving way easily as he pulled down, catching the silk knickers and pooling them both on the floor. Harry kicked off his jeans, and they stopped, and just looked. Their breath quickened, and each was feeling the shyness, the self-consciousness of this new intimacy, but they were taking the time to savour this very first look, a time that would never come again.

Ruth trailed a finger lightly down his chest and on to his hips. "You're beautiful," she said breathlessly. His voice was ragged, low, as if he didn't quite believe her, but loved that she said it. "So you tell me." Harry cupped one of her breasts, and then let his fingers move gently over her stomach. "And you are utterly exquisite, my Ruth. I want every part of you." Ruth smiled and looked down at him. "I can see that."

Now they couldn't wait. Years of wanting, of self-control, suddenly pressed on both of them with a weight that was impossible to deny. Harry reached over and pulled the cover from the bed. He lifted the white sheet and crawled in, pulling Ruth with him by the hand. He kissed her face lightly, all over, as he moved next to her, brushing her with his lips, on her shoulders and her neck, feeling the impossible softness of her skin, his tongue tasting her.

He was alongside her now, and the sensation of skin against skin, everywhere, was almost more than he could stand. Ruth was sighing, and she entwined her legs with his, moving against him. Harry felt the years of denial begin to line up, dangerously, and wondered how he could hold back, surrounded as he was by her. He stopped suddenly, with a soft moan, and Ruth knew why, because she was close, too, and for the same reason.

They held there for a moment, suspended, their quick breathing warm on each other's skin, their hearts beating soundly in their chests. Harry was searching for every ounce of control he had, and Ruth was letting him find it. Finally, Harry exhaled deeply, and began to kiss her neck again, tenderly. He pushed her gently back on to the pillows, trailing his full lips from her neck to the soft rise of her breast, and then following its curve down and around, to the warm crease below it.

Ruth closed her eyes. This was her dream, not a night time dream, but the one she'd had of a true love that was not beyond hope, was waiting for her. She'd wanted it to be Harry, and now it was. His hands were everywhere, touching her, finding places to rest and then move. She could feel his fingertips distinctly, each one travelling across her skin as if independent of the others, and his lips and tongue were exploring the places his hands couldn't be. She felt completely held by him, every part of her deliciously alive, ready to burst.

As the feelings intensified, Ruth raised her arms over her head, clutching the pillows with soft, whispered sighs. Now his lips had moved lower and found her, now his tongue, and Ruth felt herself falling, weightless, abandoning her sense of place and time as she fell. She arched her back, relinquishing herself to it, aware of every lovely nerve in her body, and crying out softly the name that was now more precious to her than her own, "Harry."

He laid his head on her stomach, the softest, warmest pillow he could imagine, and rode her breath as it rose and fell. He was breathing as heavily as she was, and felt he had crested the wave with her, almost losing himself in the process. This was love, truly. A greater care for another than you had for yourself. They could stop now and he would be fulfilled, and that was new for Harry.

But stopping was far from Ruth's intention. Having now regained some semblance of consciousness, she ruffled his hair gently and pulled lightly on his ear. "Come here, please." He looked up at her, chin on her stomach, and smiled, as if to say, "Me?" She nodded, and he began to crawl up to her, like some wonderful, smooth snake, never losing contact between their bodies. When his mouth reached hers, she rewarded him with a long, deep kiss that made him re-think the whole idea of stopping.

Ruth could feel him willing the control to stay in his body. She moved her lips over to his ear, and, through held breaths, said, "Now, Harry."

Just the words threatened to pull him over the edge, and he whispered, "It won't be long, I think."

Her voice went lower, more seductive. "I know, that's exactly what I want. It wasn't for me, either, was it? We'll have plenty of time later." Her teeth grabbed lightly on his ear, "_Now_, Harry."

No need to say it three times. He only had to move slightly as she welcomed him in and suddenly, exquisitely, he was surrounded by her. Ruth let out a deep sigh that spread warmth across his cheek, and he couldn't resist looking at her in the dim light. Her eyes were closed, her head was arched back on the pillow, her lips slightly parted. Now his own urgency felt a little less, as he moved slowly, tantalisingly, watching her face, trying to imagine how it felt for her.

Ruth opened her eyes and looked back at him. Her whole face was soft, eyes, lips, cheeks, flushed, warm, hypnotising. Her hair was tangled, spread across the pillow with its white case, smooth and clean. And this was his dream. He knew it because it also contained the love that he had always felt there. She gazed back at him, unblinking, and he knew that she wanted to hold this moment as much as he did. But the intensity of the feeling, coupled with the movement they couldn't resist, was not possible to sustain.

Both blissfully let go of control at the same time, closing their eyes and letting their bodies release together. Once, twice, then a final leap and they both were falling, clutching each other, joined so completely that they had just one body, one mind, one heart as they fell.

Harry was finding his breath again, coming back into the room, feeling the indescribable power of what they had just done, when he saw a tear slip down her cheek, drop and spread on the pillowcase. He pulled away and looked at her, dismayed, "Ruth? Why? Have I hurt you?"

She smiled at him, although the tears still slid, silently. "No, Harry, no." She moved her hand up to his face and stroked his cheek, "Oh, God, no. I think I am happier and feel more myself right now than I have in my entire life. It's as if I know what I was made for." She reached up and pulled him to her, placing his head on her breast. "I can't express how much I love you right now. It's pointless to try."

Harry sighed, feeling her heart begin to calm under his ear, and her soft, smooth skin under his cheek. He spoke tenderly, hearing himself reverberate through her chest.

"This is my dream, Ruth. I always thought it was perfect, but this is better. This is what I dreamt."

Ruth laughed softly. "It's a good one, Harry. This is a good dream."

* * *

Harry woke slowly, his eyes adjusting to the new morning light. They had thrown off the covers, both of them, and they lay in their favourite position, him curled tightly against her back, arm draped over her waist. The sunrise through the large windows turned Ruth's skin to molten gold, and without stirring, he traced the rising and falling of her waist, hip and thigh, first with his eyes, and then by trailing a finger softly along the curve.

He felt her shift, just perceptibly. Half of him wanted to wake her, half wanted to enjoy this private moment with her still asleep, but then as he trailed his finger back up again, it rested finally on her breast, which moved on her light waves of breath, and he couldn't resist. Cupping it with his hand, he felt the softness there, the indistinct separation between breast and nipple in her unaroused state.

With his finger again, he circled it, slowly, pausing to move across, and he felt it rise slightly. She seemed still to be asleep, but now there was a soft moan from deep within her, and the nipple changed shape, growing firmer, becoming less a part of the natural slope of her breast, more distinct. He explored it between finger and thumb, gently, and this time, Ruth stirred, with a sleepy "Mmmmm."

Harry was fascinated by the change he had produced in her body, just by the touch of a finger. His voice was soft, rough with sleep, "How does that happen?" It wasn't a question that required an answer. It was as if he were watching the sun rise outside the window or seeing a wave crash off the sea, some miraculous natural process that brought on rhetorical questions such as this.

But now Ruth was almost awake, and she thought she might give him an answer. Without changing her position or opening her eyes, she slowly moved her arm behind her and found the rise of his hip. She felt the combination of rough and soft hairs there and trailed her fingernails lightly across the skin of his thigh, first one, then the other, passing over the obvious destination between them.

Now Harry was the one to close his eyes and let out a soft moan. Ruth's fingers moved slowly, agonisingly, from his thigh to his stomach, then just lower to curl them in the hairs there, but still not where he wanted them. She felt his hand tighten unconsciously on her breast, and then she moved lower, taking hold of him. He jumped under her hand and stiffened.

Ruth still hadn't moved her body or opened her eyes, but now she murmured, sweetly, innocently, "How does _that_ happen?" Harry laughed, a low vibrating laugh, and circled her with his strong arms, pinning her so she couldn't move.

He whispered into her neck. "Effective technique, Ruth. Ask the questioner a question? You're getting very good at interrogation." With that, he turned her so he could look at her face, her skin glowing in the golden stripes that fell across her from the sun, moving higher on the horizon. She was smiling, a sleepy contented smile, he thought.

Harry tenderly combed a tendril of hair from her eyes. "Good morning."

She kissed his cheek and murmured, "What do you want to do today?"

"I thought we were already doing it."

Ruth laughed, burrowing her head under his chin and snuggling there. "Harry, we can't stay in bed for the entire week-end." He was silent, and she looked up at him. "Can we?" Harry's hands were moving down her back and across the rise of her hips, and she felt herself beginning to want him again. "Mmmmm, then, I suppose another hour won't hurt."

He kissed her once, twice, quickly, before parting his lips and taking her lower lip gently between his teeth. She drew him closer, and their bare skin met from their lips down to their toes in an unbroken line. They had held each other, but not like this. Even the love they made last night had been under the warmth and protection of the covers. This was different, with skin entirely exposed to the air, every inch of them open for exploring hands and lips.

As they kissed, Ruth let her fingers roam over his strong back, feeling the rise and fall of his muscles there, and then the thin layer of softness at his waist that she loved. His body responded with gooseflesh, appearing under her fingertips, supple and firm at the same time. She pulled away, and looked down to see him in the growing light. It was beginning to spill from the windows on to the bed and their bodies, now not just gold but some orange and pink creating pools on their skin.

She had seen him last night, but only in the dim light from the lamp. And they had wanted it so desperately, both of them, that they hadn't been able to take the time to savour. Now they had time, to taste, and feel, and discover each other in the daylight, or at least in the light that was growing as the sun rose.

Harry watched her looking at him and smiled as she drank in the sight of his chest , the skin so smooth, without hair, like silk under her fingers. She bent her head to kiss him there, feeling the softness on her lips, and the firmness of the muscle under the skin. And as her eyes and her hands moved lower, and she touched him, he saw no embarrassment, no blush. She used her knuckles to trace a line up and down his length, and she sighed as he responded, her breathing becoming almost as quick as his own.

Ruth kissed the small cavity at his breastbone, and then his navel, trailing her lips over his skin and gently pushing him to lie on his back. Her hands roamed as her lips did, touching him and making his skin rise and fall along with his breath. He knew now what would happen, and he wanted it more than he thought possible.

As her lips moved lower still, in the part of his mind that was still lucid, he remembered the walk in Henley-on-Thames and the sure knowledge that Ruth was many things, a complex, passionate woman who hungered for the same things he did, and wanted him as deeply as he wanted her. And he loved her completely.


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER SIXTEEN**

* * *

The sun was high in the sky when Harry opened his eyes. He lay splayed diagonally across the bed, and he was alone. The sheets and covers had long ago fallen to the floor, and he stretched luxuriously, using every inch of the queen size bed. Raising his head as far as his strength would allow at the moment, he could see no Ruth. But he did hear water running. And the faint scent of lavender, warm and moist, seemed to be in the air.

Harry rolled over, feeling the delicious contentment of his skin against the cotton under him, and the warmth of the sun that played across the bed and his naked body. But now he heard humming, just the hint of her voice, from the bathroom. He sat up, wanting to see her, anticipating the view of the particularly feminine ritual that she had so tortured him with just nights ago.

But first, he was starving. Hungrier than he could remember being. From the side table, he pulled the breakfast menu, and found what he craved. The Full English Breakfast. Eggs, bacon, sausage, kippers, salmon, tomatoes, baked beans. Christ, he was hungry. Harry picked up the phone and rang for room service.

"Yes, sir?"

"I'd like to … " Harry realised he hadn't used his voice yet today. He sounded like a bloody drunken sailor. Clearing his throat, Harry smiled and tried to pull himself together. "Yes, I'd like to order the Full English Breakfast for two?"

"You'd like a second one, sir?"

"Well, for two, but no, not a second one." Harry was having trouble tracking this conversation. He wondered if last night and this morning had affected his brain. _Worth it, even if it had_, he thought, smiling.

"One has already been ordered, sir. By your wife?"

"My … ? Ah, yes, my wife. Sorry. Yes. And when will that be arriving?"

"Half hour, sir. Will that do?"

"Yes. Brilliant. Thanks." Harry hung up the phone. Every muscle in his body felt like it had been stretched to the limit, and then warmly returned to its rightful place. He felt simultaneously tired to the bone and energised, if that was possible. He felt magnificently alive, and enormously contented.

He moved to the side of the bed, feet on the floor, to get his bearings. Standing, he reached down for the sheet, crumpled in a heap, and pulled it round him, trailing it behind as he searched her out.

Harry found her in the old fashioned claw-foot tub, in a sea of bubbles, her head just above them, her body invisible. The scent now was almost overwhelming, a field of lavender, an ocean of lavender, lavender rain in the moisture from the hot bath. It made his head spin somewhat, and he closed the lid of the toilet to sit, still surrounded by the white sheet.

Her eyes were closed, and in her bliss she had yet to know he was there. He watched her, breathing softly, and felt voyeuristic in his silence. The woman's bubble bath. An enchanting mystery.

What clutched at his heart was how beautiful it was. Oh, to have a spy's camera right now, to capture this moment forever so that he could remember it when he was cold or lonely or feeling the world was not a very happy place. The wet warmth of the room, the bubbles slowly moving with her breath, the smile that pulled at the corners of her lovely lush mouth, that mouth that had been, just this morning, on him …

Dumbfounded, Harry felt himself stir again under the sheet. He smiled, and put away firmly any worries he'd had about how long it had been and how advanced in years he felt at times. _Just needed the right incentive_, he thought. _And love_. God, he loved her. As he watched her reach up to wipe a bubble away from her face, he could stand it no longer. He let the sheet drop and moved over to the tub.

The water was high around her, but he measured it with his eyes, and thought he might just make it. Carefully, he stepped one foot in, toes first, then ankle, then calf, and then he found the space between her legs to stand. Ruth opened her eyes, and to her credit, Harry thought, she didn't flinch. She simply looked up at him and smiled, considering him in all his glory, full in front of her.

"Hello, Harry." As she realised what he was attempting, she laughed softly. "Do we have flood insurance on this room?"

He was still moving gingerly, disturbing the water as little as possible, and now he had both feet firmly on the porcelain, as he began to lower himself slowly into the water. "Won't need it. I've already calculated the weight and size of my body with the displacement ratio, and there's not going to be a flood. Have faith, dear Ruth."

She was trying not to laugh. "You'll smell of lavender all day long, you know."

"I'll be entwined with you all day long. No one will notice." Now he was holding the sides of the tub, bracing with his arms, as he lowered his waist into the warm water. Ruth moved up a bit, taking more of herself out of the tub to allow for more of him, but she was still sceptical, and her face clearly showed it. She was ready to burst out laughing, actually, but was afraid the motion might just put them over the edge.

The water rose and toyed with the lip of the tub, as Harry felt bottom and looked at her, eyebrows raised in triumph. "Oh, ye of little faith." he said. But now, they had to stay motionless, or the water would overflow. Absolutely motionless, which at this point was impossible, because Ruth couldn't hold back much longer. For some reason, this situation struck her as entirely ridiculous, and in her current happiness, ridiculous meant laughter.

"Harry, the plug. Come on, you've made your point." Ruth found it hard to look at him, because he sat, looking supremely uncomfortable, as if on a bed of nails, really, so as not to disturb the water. This, and her Harry Pearce being surrounded by huge lavender bubbles suddenly was too much too bear. Ruth, dripping with white foam, stood up, bent over to support herself on the sides of the tub, and laughed.

He looked up at her, tilting his head in mock astonishment. "What?"

This simply sent her further, and through her laughter she said, "Harry, please, it's freezing out here, please pull the plug so I can get back in. Just a little, oh God, please, it's cold…"

He turned and pulled the plug from between his legs, and the water receded. She eased herself back in, still recovering, and he plugged it again as soon as he deemed it safe.

He shook his head, now laughing with her. "Now, that was an overreaction, Ruth. There was plenty of room."

She pointed to the edges, where even now the water was threatening to tumble over. "Look," she said.

"And if you could restrain yourself from laughing at me, we would have more luck, wouldn't we?" Harry ran his hands from her feet, which straddled his hips, slowly up to her knees. His smile told her he had something in mind to get her to stop laughing, and she tilted her head at him in a question.

"Ah, not laughing now, are we?" Harry had now moved his hands on their natural path from her knees down toward her thighs. Ruth smiled at him, and began to sit up further, on her way to giving him a kiss.

"No. You stay there." His voice was soft as he pushed her gently back against the tub. "This is for you." She obeyed, and, as he predicted, she wasn't laughing anymore. "Remember, no moving, or there will be a flood. Be very still, my Ruth."

His eyes locked on hers, and hers gazed back at him. There was the faint sound of the water lapping against the side of the tub, and the bursting of bubbles like tiny fireworks around their heads. Other than that, it was silent but for their breathing, now soft and regular. Harry's chin was resting lightly on her knees as he leant forward. "Do you remember the other night, Ruth, when I was in the bar and you told me about your bath?" His voice was no longer teasing, it was gentle and sweet, and full of love.

His hands were travelling over her skin, floating over her arms and shoulders on the thin layer of soap in the deliciously scented warm water. "As the second drink was placed in front of me, this is where I was, with you, here." He smiled at her. "I imagined it quite well, actually. But I said to myself that if I ever had the chance, I would enjoy every moment of it."

Now his hands were trailing down the front of her, between her breasts, then back up and over them. His touch was so light that she had to concentrate to feel exactly where he was. His warm fingers melded with the warm water, with just traces of sensation where he had been. Ruth closed her eyes.

"Mmmmmm. We have breakfast coming, you know." Her voice was soft, sleepy.

"I know, I tried to order a second one. They told me my wife had already ordered." Now his fingers were moving lower across her stomach, around her hips and to her upper thighs, then her inner thighs.

She opened her eyes slowly and looked at him. "I know, I gave in to propriety. Shameful of me, a liberated woman, but I just had to say it." Ruth arched her back slightly, moving toward his touch. "Do you mind terribly?"

"That you saved my reputation? No, not terribly, Ruth." He was watching her every movement, the flicker of her eyelids, the parting of her lips, her breath which was coming faster now, causing her breasts to rise and fall in the water. As his hands moved where she hoped he would go, Ruth breathed in sharply, and a smile played on her face.

"Harry …"

"Mmmmmmm?"

"I can see now that we are going to have some … er …. trouble … um … leaving this room." She was experiencing some difficulty joining thoughts together.

"Yes." He was enchanted, watching her. Her eyes were still closed, and now her arms were on the sides of the tub, where the water was moving slightly higher.

"Well, I was … oh … wondering … er … if we should … should … " She stopped, biting her lower lip slightly.

"Yes?" Harry was enjoying this immensely. Exquisite payback for the other night, as he had sat miserably at the bar. It was actually even better than he imagined.

Then, three things happened at once. There was a knock at the door, Ruth suddenly clenched her legs around Harry's waist, and half the water subsequently spilled out of the tub.

When the waiter rolled in the breakfast cart, he thought he might have disturbed them, but he kept his eyes discreetly lowered. The gentleman wore the white bathrobe that came with the room, but there were pools of water forming at his feet, and they seemed to contain bubbles. More disturbing was the fact that water was soaking the carpet just outside the bathroom door. The scent of lavender in the room was overpowering.

As he set out the dishes, he was aware that the gentleman was having a great deal of difficulty keeping his face in order, in fact he appeared to be rather on the verge of laughter. And he was quite certain, as he accepted the note as a tip, just before he closed the door behind him, that he heard a woman laughing too.

* * *

**CHAPTER SEVENTEEN**

* * *

Ruth leant back in her chair and stretched her legs out, wrapping her foot around Harry's under the table. She folded the last pieces of tomato and bacon together, and put them delicately into her mouth. Harry sat across from her, enveloped in his white terry robe, reading the morning paper that had come with the food.

If Harry had looked up, the half-smile he would have seen would put him in mind of the Mona Lisa. It was an unreadable, unfathomable female look she gave him as she watched his eyes scan the paper, and watched his lips in their various involuntary expressions reacting to what he read. What Ruth was really thinking was that this moment was every bit as intimate as the ones they had shared last night and this morning. Every bit as seductive, and every bit as precious.

This was Harry, her Harry. Henry James Pearce. The man _inside_ the man the world saw. In her mind, Ruth superimposed the suit and tie over the robe, substituted a file for the newspaper, and the breakfast table was his desk. Yes, the same man.

But then, as she looked at his smooth chest above the opening of the robe and remembered the feel of his skin under her lips, her mind went again to what they had done last night. The delicious recognition of what his hands did, where his mouth had travelled, his voice soft in her ears. It made her catch her breath and shift in her chair to rub the shiver from her neck.

Ruth smiled. Her dreams hadn't been quite as specific as the wonderful reality. She had known he could be gentle because she'd seen it, but what she hadn't realised was how intuitive he was, the almost reverent way he had of moving over her skin, exploring her. He truly enjoyed it, and there was no aphrodisiac quite like it. No matter how she had tried to imagine what it would be like to make love with Harry Pearce, her imaginings hadn't come near the mark.

Ruth knew that this new intimacy had forever changed them. Like a valve in the heart that opens and then closes once it's passed through, they could never go back to the two people they had been together before. They would always be a new entity, once and perhaps forever a couple, and Ruth wondered how long the secret would be possible. She felt as if it was now written on her face, as clear to the observer as it was to her own heart. Harry was not only the man she loved, he was a part of her molecular structure, as if they had melded together in the night.

She knew that as long as she lived he would be a part of her. It didn't matter what happened now. If she never saw him past today, Ruth believed that Harry's name would still be the one on her lips as she moved from this world into the next.

"You're studying me." Harry's head didn't change position, just his eyes, with a spook's economy of movement. He was smiling at her, and she wondered how long he had been aware of her watching him. She guessed it had been rather a long time.

"Yes, I suppose I am." She smiled back, and turned her coffee cup round on the table to cover the embarrassment of being caught.

"And what are you learning?" Harry folded the paper and put it down. He picked up the carafe of coffee and poured some into Ruth's cup and then into his own.

"Lots of things." To his raised eyebrows, she answered, "You remember when we talked on the bench last Saturday?" Ruth shook her head lightly, "God, was that only a week ago?" Harry nodded, smiling. "Well, I remember we talked about losing control, that it could be frightening?" She smiled shyly at him, and Harry thought he saw just the hint of a blush in her cheeks. "Not so bad, Harry. Not with you."

Harry pursed his lips, but there was light in his eyes. "Not so bad. What every man wants to hear the morning after."

Ruth laughed warmly, and spoke low, seductively, her eyes soft. "Oh, I think we both know my evaluation would be quite a bit better than that." Ruth poured some cream into Harry's cup first, and then some in her own. She stirred them both, and watched the movement, keeping her eyes lowered. "I guess I just wanted to say that I felt … safe." Now she looked into his eyes. "I always feel safe with you, Harry."

"That's good." Harry took her hand across the table. For a moment, they just looked at each other, and then Harry spoke again. "And what else were you thinking as you were studying me?"

Ruth thought for just a moment. "That we're all many people. Who we are, and who we show to the world, as a start." Ruth picked up her cup and sipped, looking at him over the rim.

"Ah, yes, occupational hazard. Where does the real leave off and the legend begin?" He looked across at her, his voice clear. "I can help you with that one. This is real, Ruth." He curled his finger into a lock of hair that hadn't dried yet and had fallen into a tiny ringlet at her cheek. The white terry robe was dangerously loose above the tie at her waist. Harry wondered what he'd found so bloody interesting in the paper, because now he couldn't take his eyes off her.

She looked across at him, shaking her head. "Does it seem at all strange to you, Harry? How comfortable this is?"

He was listening, but most of all, he was looking. He felt no urgency to do or understand anything in this moment. He just wanted her not to move so he could keep gazing at her. "In what way?"

"Oh, I don't know, that we've been together for … er … twelve days? And here we are, wrapped in dressing robes, having breakfast, well, lunch, and, really, I couldn't be more comfortable."

Her foot was still rubbing his, and he rubbed back. "We've been together for much longer than twelve days, Ruth."

Her smile matched his, soft and warm. "Not like this, Harry."

"No, I suppose that's true. Not like this."

They held each other's eyes, each committing the other to memory. As they acknowledged the preciousness of what they had in this moment, the inevitable fear of its loss intruded. And, as they had found in their time together, their thoughts blended. Who had the thought first, and who received it, was impossible to tell, but Ruth voiced it. "What I said at dinner, Harry? That we're a strange species?" She took another sip of coffee. "You know there's nowhere I'd rather be than MI5, but it's not like you heading off to the bank every day, and me off to the shops, you know?"

"No, it's not."

Now Ruth's eyes glistened just a bit as she looked at him. "So what do I do next time you get shot?"

Harry wanted to walk around and pull her into his arms, to hold her and tell her that wouldn't happen. But he couldn't, because it might. So he simply sat and looked at her, his mouth set, his eyes searching hers. He tried to remember if it was twenty-six or twenty-seven times his life had almost been taken while doing his job. The idea that there would not be a twenty-eighth never entered his mind. There would be. And truth was, the law of averages was beginning to work against him.

Ruth put down her coffee cup and leant forward on the table, taking his hand. "Sorry. No answers for questions like that."

Harry leant forward too. "It's different now, isn't it? It's changed." Harry watched their hands together, as his thumb stroked hers, gently. Ruth knew he was speaking to her, but was also speaking to himself. "I know we've always had something to lose, but now … the more we give of ourselves, the more we have to lose. It's a risk, setting your heart out there for target practice." Harry looked up at her. "I suppose the best I can give you, Ruth, is that I'll _try_ not to get shot."

Ruth smiled at him. "I'd appreciate that very much, Harry."

Harry continued. "You know, I've always liked the idea of officers romantically involved with each other." At Ruth's surprised look, he continued. "Of course, Fiona's death was a tragedy. And Tom and Christine really needed to be working for the same country." He looked meaningfully into Ruth's eyes, "But in principle, I feel it does a man good to have someone to look out for, as well as someone to look out for him." Ruth smiled, and he said, "I believe that's exactly what I wrote in my diary once."

Harry looked down at his coffee cup. "That said, I remember when it was Catherine who was in danger. My desire to protect her clouded my vision badly. And I think, what now, Ruth? If I have to decide whether to put you in harm's way? If it's good for the country, good for the operation, but dangerous for you? I'm not sure the couples scenario applies in the same way. I suppose I'll just have to see how I react if it happens."

Ruth smiled softly at him. "You'll do what you do best, Harry. You'll make the decision that is for the greater good. Even if it involves putting me in harm's way."

Now he did get up from the table and walk around to her. Taking her hand, he pulled her up into his arms. The two of them, twins wrapped in terry, he thought. _If they could see us on the Grid now_. "I love that I have someone to worry about me, Ruth. It might make me take better care of myself."

"I've always worried about you." Ruth reached up and kissed him, tenderly. As she did, she felt the beginnings of something in the pit of her stomach. A dread, a fear, a feeling somehow that this couldn't last. She pushed it down, and it came right back. Harry saw it in her eyes.

"What?" He brushed her hair away from her face. "What, Ruth? What are you thinking?" He looked slightly alarmed.

Ruth spoke softly, still looking in his eyes. "I would do anything for you, you know." She put her arms around his waist and pulled herself closer to him, taking in the faint scent of lavender that clung to the skin on his chest. "Tell me I deserve this happiness, Harry. Tell me we both do."

Harry frowned, holding her tightly. "Of course we do. What's brought this on, Ruth?" He pulled away from her, concerned. "What are you feeling?"

"Like … Like something is going to take you away from me, Harry." Ruth shook her head. "Silly, I was just wishing you had gotten the DG's job. Get you safely behind a desk where I can keep an eye on you." Ruth was smiling now, but Harry could see she was forcing herself to be sunny, willing herself out of this mood. She pulled on the tie to his robe and said, "Come on, let's get dressed and go out. I want to see Bath with you."

* * *

They couldn't have asked for a more beautiful Saturday afternoon. It was about three when they finally made their way out of the hotel and walked the Pulteney Road to the bridge. They lingered for a while, not talking, just watching the water of the Avon rushing over the steps, both of them thinking how long it had been flowing, just like this, as the world turned. The Avon of Shakespeare, whose words described so many lovers, just like them.

Wordlessly, they moved on, wandering through the shops on the Bridge, until Harry caught Ruth gazing just a bit longer at some tiny silver alphabet charms in little boxes on a shelf. He moved behind her and looked. She had picked up the H and the R and was holding them together, but they were so small that it was hard to read the letters until he rested his head on her shoulder.

Ruth turned and looked at him, her eyes full of love. She wore, as always, her necklace, the one with the ivory pendant that she seemed never to take off. That and her silver and ruby rings were the only pieces of jewellery she ever wore, gifts from her maternal grandmother on her sixteenth birthday. As she held Harry's eyes, she moved the two small charms up to her neck, off to the side of her necklace, and held them there, smiling at him. Unless he got very close, he would never know what the letters were. He smiled back at her and nodded.

Twenty minutes later, the jeweller brought Ruth's necklace out to her, holding it up so that she could see. The tiny H and R were now attached, so closely that they fell against each other and in among the other charms. Ruth smiled at the jeweller, and said, "Thank you." She took it from him and handed it to Harry, lifting her hair. Harry clasped the necklace at the back, and leant to kiss the small charms. "I love you," he said gently into her neck, and Ruth shivered slightly at the contact.

Harry paid the jeweller and they walked out in silence, their hearts full of the awareness that this was another moment, another secret they kept only for themselves. He would never look at her necklace again without knowing that this emblem of their love was against her skin in that spot he so loved to kiss.

They walked on, making their way to the Royal Crescent, still looking much like it did at the end of the 18th century, with its Georgian town houses and semi-circular lawn. They talked of everything, history, architecture, the monarchy, all with an effortlessness, with the ease of old and dear friends. It didn't surprise either of them that they were of a mind on so many subjects. It was what they had felt subliminally for years, dating back to Ruth's initial comment on that first day about the Home Office, and Harry's surprised and delighted answer of "If only."

People were strolling everywhere, with the usual mix of international tourists, cameras in hand. Ruth was aware, once again, of how much she loved this country, her England. And of course, it was always impossible for Ruth to walk the Royal Crescent without feeling herself entirely in the middle of a Jane Austen novel. But, she thought today, it was a very different experience for her as she walked with Harry.

She realised that her walks alone or with a friend had always seemed to put her in mind of the somewhat melancholy Austen passages, the unrequited love, misunderstandings, and denial that were staples of her heroines. Now, with Harry on her arm, she found herself inhabiting all the sought-after endings, the happy ones, where the boy finally gets the girl.

The dread that she had felt earlier, that had come over her so suddenly, left in the same fashion. Ruth reminded herself that even the man who goes off each day to the bank can be found by an errant black cab as he steps off the curb. And at his desk, Harry was definitely in less danger than an agent in the field like Adam or Zaf.

On they walked, visiting the Roman Baths and stopping in Bath Abbey, the last Gothic church in England, impressively large, with exceptionally beautiful stained glass windows. They walked through the church and Ruth lit a candle, whispering to Harry that it was for happiness, a wish that someone, somewhere, could feel as she felt today. Harry wanted to take the trip up the Abbey tower, and they were rewarded with a spectacular view of Bath from the top, just as the sun was beginning its move toward the horizon.

They made their way to a field of grass on a hill, overlooking the Avon. There were people there, but not many, and Harry found a spot under a tree with a view to the setting sun. They sat for a time, and then Ruth laid back, looking at the blue sky and its skittering clouds through the whispering leaves of the tree overhead. Harry stretched out, too, his head resting against his hand, sideways, looking at her.

She turned to him, and thought how wonderfully ordinary they must look to those around them. This man in the casual shirt, jeans and trainers, and this woman in blouse, skirt and kicked-off sandals. Lying here on the grass in Bath, clearly in love.

Ruth moved closer to him, and laid her head on his shoulder, pulling his arm around her. He held her, warm in his arms, and gently kissed her hair, her forehead, her cheeks, and then her lips. Ruth murmured what she was thinking. "We could be any couple in the world, Harry. The banker and the shopgirl. Nothing more ominous going on in our lives than how to balance the cheque book and what to fix for dinner."

He pulled away and looked at her. "Is that what you want, Ruth?" He knew it wasn't what he had to offer, and doubted it ever would be.

Ruth smiled at him. "God, no, Harry. I love the work we do. I'd go slowly round the bend in that life. I'm just lying here thinking that these are the people we protect every day. They don't know how many times we've saved their cheque books and their dinners, and I guess it's better that way, really."

"Preserve the status quo." Harry spoke his version of MI5's mission. "We do our best to keep them from knowing how fragile this life is." The sky above them was beginning to change from blue to purple to pink, the edges of the clouds picking up the slanted rays of the sun. They lay and watched for a while as it transformed before their eyes, the cool of the grass beneath them, the short blades tickling their arms.

Both were thinking the same thing. _We go back tomorrow_. How quickly they had adapted to this new life together. Suddenly this one seemed the real one, and their life on the Grid was the legend, the superficial life that belonged in a box. Harry pulled Ruth close to him and held her there. "I love you," he said fervently, into her hair. Ruth heard everything in those words, the depth of his love for her, and all the regrets mixed with the realistic understanding that this was the life they had chosen, long before they chose each other. Just as if he'd said it, Ruth heard it, and so she answered him, "We'll be fine, Harry. We can do this. We can tell people or not tell people, whatever you like, but we can have this, I know it."

His voice was soft in her ear. "Before this week-end, do you know how many days I had taken off work? Really taken away from work, away from home, from London? Not travel for work, but for pleasure? Four, Ruth. Four, as nearly as I can count. And none of them like this. In twelve and a half years as Section Head."

He pulled away and looked at Ruth, her face so soft in the fading light. "And I can't wait to do it again. Next week-end, if we can. And whilst that is the most fantastic thought in the world to me right now, I wonder, how do I do my job? " He smiled and kissed her, tenderly. "If I'm always mooning over you, my Ruth, how will I do my job?"

Ruth turned over on her stomach and looked into his eyes, although the light was disappearing fast. "Are you really worried about that, Harry?"

He sighed and began to say something, then stopped, then spoke. "No. Yes. Well, a bit, I suppose. It's hard to know right now, with you left, right and centre of my thoughts. I've always stolen looks at you, known where you were, but now, Christ." Harry laughed softly. "Now I'll be seeing you bloody naked on the Grid, and wondering when I can have you again."

Ruth smiled and moved forward to kiss him. She whispered softly into his ear, "Well, then, we will have to de-sensitise you, Harry. We'll have each other so often and so thoroughly that you'll be saying to yourself, 'Oh, cripes, here _she_ comes again!'"

Harry laughed and pulled her next to him, circling her with his arms. "Not bloody likely. But now as you've mentioned it, that _would_ help. De-sensitisation. Excellent solution." He kissed her and then said, "Shall we get started with my indoctrination?"

Ruth pushed him away gently. "Not until you feed me. I'm hungry again."

Harry smiled at her. "Where do you put it? Certainly not in that magnificent body of yours." He nuzzled her neck, not wanting to move.

Ruth sat up. "I need to keep my strength up, Harry. It's in your best interests that I do." She took his hand and pulled him up with her. "Feed me, please."

Harry brushed the grass off his jeans, and then turned to do the same with her skirt, spending a little more time than was necessary, she noticed. "Thank you, Harry, that'll do," she said, laughing. He took her hand. "So. Where for dinner?"

"The Jazz Café. I saw it as we passed. They have a trio playing tonight. How does that sound?"

Harry nodded. "It sounds wonderful. As long as dancing isn't required. If there's dancing, you shall do it, and I shall watch."

* * *

**CHAPTER EIGHTEEN**

* * *

They shared the Moroccan Pork Skewers and a full-sized Avocado and Bacon Salad, nibbling off each other's plates like bohemians. They had to speak loudly to be heard over the brilliant jazz trio, and they laughed often. They might as well be in Morocco, Ruth thought, because they seemed as far away from home as they could be. Worlds away from the Ruth and Harry who walked through their days wanting, living for weeks on just a look or a word from each other.

This time, they shared a good bottle of Merlot, and the passionate dusty flavour, musky and deep, seemed to fit their mood. They now had a depth of knowledge of each other, a new memory of the other's body, and the understanding that they would have another long night to enjoy together.

The trio took a break, and the room quieted. Ruth smiled at Harry across the flickering candle. "This is what it would be like, isn't it? Travelling together? On The Grand Tour?"

"Yes, just as I imagined. And I described you perfectly that night, Ruth. A little clumsy, I'll admit, but I couldn't think of any other way to tell you." Now he finally had the chance to ask her what he had wondered, although it seemed so long ago. "Why did you look so sad, when I described you? You knew, didn't you, that it had to be you?"

Ruth again picked up her napkin and began folding it, and Harry smiled. This time, he reached across as he'd wanted to do then, and put his hand over hers.

She didn't answer right away, and when she did, her voice was soft. "Do you know how you can want something for so long, can crave it, and then, when it comes within your reach, you're frightened, and pull back? That's what I did, Harry. My mind was saying, 'It's me. He's talking about me.' And suddenly I was terrified. And then I second-guessed, and thought I'd only imagined you were describing me. I wanted to be able to re-run the conversation, to be sure you weren't just being playful, or teasing. It was too important." She looked up at him. "And then the moment was gone. I'd missed it."

Harry entwined his fingers with hers, understanding completely. "We've had a lot of those moments, Ruth. Both of us. I should have kissed you that night in the hallway, when you told me about the MD reader? I almost did. I was so proud of you, so in awe of what you'd done with Angela. I knew how you felt, exhilarated and ashamed at the same time." His deep brown eyes held hers for a moment. "And you can't possibly imagine how beautiful you were, so angry, so passionate in the blue light of that hallway."

Ruth laughed, "Oh, Harry, how foolish we've been. I almost kissed _you_ in that bloody hallway! A millimetre from either of us and we might have been the scandal of the Grid. I was alternately kicking myself and horrified at how close I was to doing it. I had to plaster myself against that wall. My hands were shaking, and I was sure you could see it."

They each took another sip of wine, and Ruth thought, _Now that I'm at it, why not ask it all?_ "And what about the bus, Harry?"

Harry looked down at his hands, remembering. "Ah, yes, the bus. That was a time of great introspection for me. Suddenly without a job, the job that had been my life for as long as I could remember. I was doing a lot of reassessing, Ruth."

He took the bottle from the table and poured a glass for Ruth and topped off his own. "I was so glad it was you that I was to meet, because it was you that I wanted so much to see right then. Course, I spoilt that too. Said nothing I'd intended to. Fear of failure can be paralysing if you let it, and my guard was down." Harry's voice went deeper, softer. "It was you that I was thinking about."

"And what did you intend to say, Harry?" She looked at him shyly, questioning.

Harry paused for a moment, and then spoke. "I wanted to tell you that I'd been thinking a lot about my life. That if a man's job goes away and he has nothing, really, but daytime television, and the race track, and a small, but very inarticulate dog to fill his time, then something is wrong." Harry swirled the wine in his glass. "I wanted to tell you that I missed seeing you. That you had become a part of my days so much by increments, that I hadn't noticed until you weren't there, and I felt the loss deeply."

When he looked up, Ruth's eyes were glistening, nearly filling. "Oh, Harry. How I wish you had."

"And when it was over, and I stepped on the Grid again, you were the first person I wanted to see." He laughed softly, remembering. "And I looked over at your desk fully expecting it to be empty, and by God, there you were. Like a mirage for a thirsty man. Looking so bloody beautiful in that light. A proper angel, Ruth." Harry paused for a moment, then shook his head. "And what did I say to you, with my heart so full in that moment? 'I need to read some files.' Some _files_."

Harry smiled at her, sadly. "Never thought of myself as a man unable to express himself when I feel something strongly. And there I stood, tongue-tied."

Now Ruth did brush her hand across her cheek to catch a small tear. "You're telling me now, Harry. That's all that matters. And you're saying it quite beautifully."

"That was a hard time." He smiled at her. "Thanks for the casseroles, by the way. I was, in fact, living off crisps and canned tuna when they arrived."

Ruth put her head in her hand, and laughed. "God, it felt shameless to send you those. So personal, so intimate, to think I was cooking something, and you would eat it, there in your house. But I couldn't bear it. It was all I could do to not just show up on your doorstep, Harry." She looked at him, from under her lashes. "I missed you terribly." After a pause, she went on. "So, on the bus. You felt it too, then. I didn't just imagine it?"

"Our hands? Christ, yes. Practically had sex right there on the bloody rail!" They both laughed now, remembering. "A bit of pent-up desire, do you think? Completely sordid, and on public transportation, no less." He took her hand now and held it, but this time, he didn't let go. Both smiled as their laughter quieted.

Harry looked up at her. "We made do with so little for so long, Ruth."

"Never again, Harry. I may not be able to throw my arms around you and tell you what you mean to me on the Grid, but you must know that I always will later. Whenever we're forced to hold back, we'll know that it's only a postponement. Just say to yourself, 'Later.' And so will I."

Harry's eyes were soft. "Later. I'll remember that."

As Ruth looked across at him, her heart filled. The memories had made her tired of waiting. She drank the rest of her wine in one gulp, and sighed. "Now, Harry," she said softly.

Harry smiled and raised an eyebrow, leaning forward to whisper to her. "You're contradicting yourself, Ruth."

"Very observant. Yes, that's correct. " She repeated, still holding his eyes, this time more forcefully, "Now, Harry. No more waiting."

* * *

Harry closed the door behind him. Last night they had been like virginal newlyweds, nervous and tentative. Tonight they knew what awaited them, and their new familiarity allowed them to frantically fumble with buttons, snaps and zips while they kissed, laughing, barely inside the door. The trail of clothes, which they would see much later, led in virtually a straight line from the door to the bed, with only a thrown shirt and a shoe askew to break it.

Harry's stamina was greatly improved by the luxuriously stress-free day, the relaxing dinner, and the fact that he had exercised precious little self-denial in the last twenty-four hours. Ruth was no less his object of desire, in fact, he wanted her even more, but his body no longer had years to make up for. Now he could play, he thought, he could tease. This was the night he spoke about in the alcove. _I want to have the time to explore every inch of you without interruption._

Finally freed of their clothes, they managed a safe landing on the bed, scrambling then to push the covers down and find the cool smoothness of the sheets. They twined together, four legs and four arms indistinguishable in the soft light, as if they couldn't get close enough, and Harry found her lips again. Ruth sighed as they slowed, and held there, almost unable to tell where she ended and he began, her hands running over the skin of his arms, his lower back, the cleft there and then the rise below it, then his thighs.

She saw the shape of his body as she felt it, strong and soft at the same time. All this wonderful skin, she thought giddily, hidden under his clothes all that time. What a pleasure to touch him, to have him beneath her fingers. How could she ever see him again and not know the treasure that was underneath, not remember the feel of him.

She felt his chest against her breasts, and he moved, slowly, creating just the barest friction between their bodies. She felt the tingle that told her she was rising to meet him, and he broke away gently from the kiss. She hadn't removed her necklace, and his lips went directly there, to the side that he knew contained the charms. He kissed them again as he had before, but this time, he lingered, his tongue tracing tiny circles on her neck, his breath deliciously warm and tropical on her ear.

As the heat rose on their skin, she noticed, as Harry did, that the aroma of lavender was also rising. It wafted from both of them, reminding them of what they had done earlier, increasing their hunger for each other. Harry moved slowly across her neck, to the graceful hollow just above her breastbone, tasting her. Then his lips moved down and across her breasts, so soft, fluttering. Again, she saw his lips as she felt them, full and round.

Harry's lips. Oh, the hours of thought she'd had about those lips. His was a man's mouth, but so sensual, so soft, that it seemed always to fight the toughness he wanted so much to present to the world. She had wondered how he felt about them, if he knew how he looked when he concentrated, how they thrust out, full, inviting, as he pondered such terrible questions.

She had imagined herself touching them, with her fingertips, or even, she had thought then with a blush, moving just inches and pressing her own lips to them. A thousand times, as he leant over her shoulder to look at her computer screen, or stood next to her with a file for her to read, and, yes, in the hallway as he whispered, his breath warm on her cheek, "_Return it."_ And now, she thought in wonder, those lips, Harry's very own lips, were kissing her breast, teasing her nipple between them, and the sensation was everything she had dreamt it would be.

Ruth leant her head back on the pillow and sighed, her fingers threading through his hair, resting finally on the soft curls at his neck. She could feel the movements of his head as he kissed her, and she trailed her fingers along his ears, his jaw, and then to the place where his lips touched her skin, as if she were blind and seeing him only through her hands. And now she knew she wanted his lips on hers. Dipping her head lower, she took his chin and raised him up until she found them.

He'd planned on spending more time right where he was, but Ruth managed to slide down his body in such a way that he was caught, and suddenly they were facing each other, on their sides. She looked at him in the soft light, his skin golden, and his eyes so tender on her. She held his face, framed between her hands.

"I love you, Harry." Her voice was low, and raw with emotion. She kissed him, tenderly, grazing his lips so that she could enjoy them completely, feel their fullness. His mouth was so warm, and the scent of lavender was intoxicating. She parted her lips into a kiss that was overflowing with the love she was feeling, her sighs feathering his cheek. Then she pulled away to breathe, and Ruth spoke softly into his mouth, "I want you right here, kissing me. I've wanted that for so long. Right here." She moved her mouth back to his, gently.

Ruth pressed against him, lower, feeling the stiffness there, and entwined her legs with his. She knew she could have him when she wanted, but for right now, she only wanted his warm skin against her own, moving, cadenced, rhythmic, as she kissed him. She knew that he was feeling her warmth too, as he grew harder still against her. They both sighed further into the kiss.

Last night had all been new, but tonight held a comfort, a familiarity to it as their hands explored each other's bodies. They knew the geography, although the landscape was no less stunning to them. Their mouths and their hips remained fused, moving unhurriedly as their hands roamed. Across bones and muscles, hair and face, traversing skin with its tautness and its folds, fingertips and nails exploring tenderly, inch by inch.

It seemed to Ruth that they stayed like that for an eternity, softly sighing against each other's lips, and that was what she wanted. She had never done this before, and neither had Harry. Never taken the time to do this. They each knew that when they needed it, it would be a simple step, just a fraction of a movement, but for now they made love to each other's bodies, and love is what it felt like. They learned about each other, in wonder and awe that so many dreams had crystallised into this exquisite reality.

But of course it wasn't meant to last forever, and they could feel the sensations growing for both of them by slow and deliciously agonising degrees, their breath rising and falling with the gentle motion of Ruth's hips. The movement was expanding toward something, something they both began to feel as a destination, rather than just the journey there.

Harry felt it begin to happen, first at her mouth, as she lost a measure of concentration and her lips tightened slightly on his, and then a soft moan as she moved more urgently. He wanted to feel it, wanted to be a part of it, so he willed himself to stay present, waiting until just the moment before, and he moved over her and entered her, gently. She cried out softly, and he felt the tremors surround him, surprising him with their intensity. He finally abandoned his own control, and let the waves take him completely, one after another.

He lay there for a time, not wanting to move, as they breathed together, warm, with the taste of lavender in the air around them. But he felt his own weight on Ruth as his mind began to clear. Harry rolled over to his side, still joined with her, holding her tightly and stroking her hair as their breath calmed.

Harry was so full of emotion that he wasn't sure he could speak, but there was so much he wanted to say. He wanted to thank Ruth for giving herself so completely, to tell her he had never felt like this before in his life. And he wanted her to know that he never intended to let her go. But he didn't trust himself, because he actually felt the emotion so strongly in his chest, he was afraid it would convert to tears. The ones he felt stinging in his eyes right now.

He had given up on this. This would never happen for him. He had let it go completely, the way one rationalises and pretends a lack of desire for a prize out of reach. He was beyond the passion, the release this type of connection entails, he was a different sort of animal, not meant to be in love. Not meant to possess or be possessed by any woman. All of these fallacies were pressing in on him as he held Ruth. _Lies, every one of them_.

He took hold of her face, tenderly, the space between them still filled with the heat of their bodies. _His eyes_, Ruth thought. These were the eyes of the corridor at Havensworth. They laid him bare, his heart open, vulnerable, handed to her for safe-keeping. Any will he might have had to protect it had vanished, and she felt the weight and the responsibility of the gift he was giving. What she didn't know was that she was looking in a mirror, and that her eyes were saying the same thing to him.

Together, they accepted the gift. Their mouths travelled the minute distance between them and touched, as both said at the same time, "I love you." He was still inside her, Ruth thought, his physical presence, yes, but also in such a profound way.

They were both thinking the same thing. _Nothing can touch this. No outside influence, no person, nothing. They would never doubt each other again. The earth and everything on it can vaporise, and this will remain_.

* * *

Ruth looked at the clock again. 11:16 now, and they still hadn't moved. The sun was high in the sky, check out time was noon, and they had neither dressed nor packed. They had showered together in the early morning and barely managed to get the soap rinsed off before getting to the bed and making love again.

Their robes lay crumpled on the floor, necessary only for the short period of time that decorum dictated as their breakfast was brought in, exactly the same as yesterday. It was the same porter as well, and he thought the desk girl was wrong, these _were_ newlyweds, or he was in the wrong ruddy line of work.

Now, Ruth lazily popped a grape in her mouth, moving then to offer one to Harry, who shook his head, groaning. "No more. Please, God. I'll burst." He was reading the paper again, but this time, it was propped on his naked stomach as he laid on the bed, and Ruth had the advantage of the view above _and_ below the paper.

Not to mention that he had thrown caution to the wind and shown her something just as private. His reading glasses. Rather than squinting through the paper as he had yesterday, he had parked the ego that told him he was far too young for them, and put the glasses firmly on his nose. Ruth happened to love how they looked, and she told him so. "Brings back all of my University professor fantasies, Harry," she whispered.

So now he wore glasses, the morning paper, what God gave him, and nothing else.

Ruth smiled as she looked at him, thinking at least she had the modesty to pull the sheet up to her waist as she did the crossword. Harry, her Harry. How she loved him. Oblivious to the picture he presented.

He had obviously entered her brain at this last thought, because he turned and looked at her. "What?" he said, peering at her over his glasses.

Ruth laughed and put the paper down, her eyes travelling the length of his body. Harry looked back at himself, and used the paper as a tent, showing a little more modesty. "No laughing, Ruth. You could damage me permanently. What's so damned funny?"

Her answer was a kiss, as she snuggled down into the sheet and moved next to him. "You are more precious to me than life itself, Harry."

He threw the paper on the floor and turned to her, snatching the glasses off his nose. "Well, that's more like it." He kissed her. "And what do you want to do today, my love?"

Ruth smiled at him, her eyebrows raised. "Harry, we have to leave! We have, what, about forty minutes now to clear out of here, and we haven't budged!"

Harry kissed her. "I'm feeling rich today. We'll stay another night."

"Have you forgotten that the world has been turning while we've been here? We might be needed, you know."

"I've read the paper. No one misses us." Harry took her in his arms and kissed her, gently at first, and then more insistently. Ruth sighed against him and felt her will beginning to dissolve, but then she found it again.

"Harry. If we're both gone mysteriously on a Monday morning, it will be noticed." She pulled back and saw him thinking. He looked into her eyes for a moment, and then he sighed.

"All right, but you must agree to a compromise."

Ruth smiled. "Let me hear the terms."

Harry looked tenderly at her. "You have a bag packed already. The cats are cared for. Tonight, you sleep in my bed. You come home with me."


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER NINETEEN**

* * *

They managed to get out of the room by 12:04, to their amazement. The pretty desk clerk had responded well to Harry's smile, which seemed to him a permanent fixture these days. He would have to work on that. He was, after all, on his way back to the Grid, where the face he had been wearing recently had no place. He was actually having some rather serious thoughts about it as he drove. Harry Pearce was afraid he may have lost his edge in this glorious happiness, and as he drove, he was trying very hard to find it.

He looked over to Ruth quickly, and she seemed lost in thought, but a smile also seemed the default level of her face this morning. Her lovely mouth, which Harry had noticed over the years had a tendency to turn down just a bit no matter what her state of mind, had found its path upward, and seemed fairly stuck there.

She felt him looking at her, and turned. Now he got the full benefit of her smile, and what little edge he had managed to retrieve began to melt. He smiled back and squeezed her hand between them, but, in truth, Harry was worried.

There was something he needed to tell her. "Ruth, I want us to talk about something. Something I'm feeling."

For a moment, Ruth went back. Back to the Ruth that thought nothing good might ever happen to her, the insecure one, the one that thought she wasn't pretty and was too smart by far to ever find a man who would put up with her. But she trusted Harry completely. She had handed her whole heart to him in Bath, and she knew she held his, right now. She pushed the old Ruth away, and turned in her seat to give him her full attention. "Anything, Harry. I'll talk to you about anything."

He looked back at her. He wanted to say this the right way. In this moment he was glad that he was so infused with the softness of their love, because he could speak gently. All he had to do was open his heart, and the gentleness would come out.

"You know how much I love you, Ruth." She nodded at him, but he could see she was starting to get a little worried. _Nip that in the bud_. "I'm not going to say anything here that's going to hurt you, my Ruth. You are a part of my life now." He kissed the hand that he held as he watched the road, stealing looks at her when he could.

"Go on, Harry. I trust you."

"Good. I'm just feeling something that's worrying me, and it's in me, not you." He paused, measuring his words. "You've seen me on the Grid. We talked just last week after Havensworth about the decisions that need to be made, hard ones. In the past, you've called me a cold bastard, and you've been right. I think those two words may actually be in my job description."

Ruth had a feeling where this was going, and part of her relaxed.

Harry went on. "The last three days have been magical, Ruth." He laughed, shaking his head. "Christ, there's my point exactly. When was the last time you heard Harry Pearce use the word, 'magical?'" He looked over at her, "Bloody hell, Ruth, am I too contented to be Section Head? All I can think about is you. My beautiful Ruth. Your voice, your body, the feel of you."

She submerged the thrill his words gave her, feeling slightly guilty that what was causing him pain was causing her so much happiness. "Harry. You've known the Grid much longer than you've known my body. Don't you think it will all return to you when you step back through the pods?"

Harry pursed his lips. "Yes, to a degree. But even the last week, before we had this week-end, I was distracted. Something would happen and I couldn't wait to tell you about it. I was timing myself to be sure I didn't look at you too much. Half of me has been missing because it was with you."

She simply gazed at him, waiting for him to continue.

He looked over at her and smiled. "Ah, you see? Look at you. You're bloody beautiful Ruth. Your hair blowing just across your cheek, your eyes … God, your eyes. How am I supposed to function?"

Ruth sighed, "You were a poet long before this week-end, Harry. I always knew it. Somewhere inside, so did you."

His voice rose. "Yes, but I need to be a warrior, Ruth."

Ruth held her eyes on him. "With a poet's soul, Harry. A warrior with a poet's soul. You have both. It's why you're so good at your job."

Harry realised he had both hands gripping the wheel right now, and he relaxed his fingers on the smooth leather. He willed himself to calm, took himself back to the beginning in the way that always helped him solve a problem.

"I think we need to set some rules. _I_ need them. And I need you to agree to them. " He knew he was speaking more sharply than he wanted to, but he had to get this clear in his mind. He was having his version of the actor's dream right now, the one he remembered from his school days when he was performing Shakespeare.

More like the actor's nightmare, really. You stand on a stage, the audience is full, and you have no idea what play you are in or what your lines are. The people wait, expectantly, eyes upturned to you on the stage, and your mind is blank. Every actor has it at one time or another, and Harry was having it now. The only way to overcome it, as an actor, is to run and rerun your lines until you can do them in your sleep.

Harry took Ruth's hand again and looked over at her. She was being his Ruth, his rock, the one that sat in briefings and let him speak sharply and still stayed open to him, allowed him to bluster, and rage, and still returned his gaze, unmoving. Harry thanked God for her, at the same time he sensed the well of feeling start to pull him under again. _No. Focus. Don't be indulgent_.

He spoke matter-of-factly, his tone even. "You can't imagine how many things I know that I don't tell you all." Harry sighed and his voice grew softer. "Things you don't want to know." He paused for a moment, and took a deep breath. "I can't tell you everything, Ruth. I will learn things in meetings, in phone calls, from reading files, that I will never tell you."

"I don't need to know everything, Harry."

"Ah, yes, you say that now." He looked over at her again. She was patiently listening. "Do you remember the Contingent Events Committee? When you and Adam confronted me, asking me if I'd ever been a member?" Ruth nodded.

Harry looked ahead at the road. "I lied to you. Bold-faced, flat-out, lied to you. And I will again, if I have to. You may ask me a question, with those eyes that I love more than I can express, and I will lie to you. Even if they look sad, as they do now, even if you plead with me to open my heart, to tell you, I may need to lie to you, Ruth. It may be because I need to protect you. Give you plausible deniability, as was the case with the CEC." He was challenging her, wanting to feel himself on firm ground.

Ruth squeezed his hand. "I know, Harry."

"But you didn't then. You stood there and I watched myself crumble in your eyes. How did you feel when you saw my name on those minutes? When you knew that I had lied to you, when you knew that I'd attended that Committee meeting? The Committee that you thought had murdered Diana?"

Ruth looked at Harry, remembering. He was right. That moment had been a defining one for her. "I thought I didn't know you. That I had been wrong about you." Her voice went softer. "That I couldn't love a man who would do that."

Harry looked over at her. "Yes. And I watched it all in your eyes." He looked back to the road. "And when I explained it to you? What then?"

The memory was still clear to her, even now. Her knees had almost buckled, standing there at his desk. "Oh, God, such relief. Anger at myself for doubting you. Happiness that I could still have you. But most of all, relief that my instincts about you hadn't gone so terribly wrong."

"Yes." He reached over and took her hand again. His voice was soft, pained. She heard in it what he had felt then. "I had to be willing to lose you then, Ruth. If you had never asked me about it, if you had let me go without telling me? If you had just known in your heart that I was not a man to be trusted or loved, admired or respected? I would have had to let it go at that, and I would have lost you." He paused for a moment, gathering the emotions that rose just at the thought. His voice went softer, still. "I don't believe I could do that now. And there, Ruth, is my dilemma."

"Oh, Harry." She searched her heart now. Would he have lost her? She gave him her answer. "I don't think it's that simple. I know you now. We've talked about things that I've only been able to guess at. And every feeling I've had has been right, so I can trust myself. Trust that I know who you are inside, Harry, no matter what your job forces you to do."

The tightness in Harry's heart eased up a bit, and he smiled his thanks to her. "I suppose what I'm trying to say is that I will always do the best I can, Ruth. But I know there will come a time when you will care deeply about something, and you'll look in my eyes, wondering what I know. I may have to keep it from you. I may disappoint you. And God help me, I may have to lie to you."

"I understand, Harry. Really, I do. As long as you never lie to me about us. About this." She took his hand and placed it on her heart.

"That's a promise." Harry held her eyes as long as he could, and then looked back to the road. They went for a time, both lost in their own thoughts, and then Ruth spoke.

"About the CEC? I was wrong, Harry. I should have known better."

He shook his head. "No, you weren't wrong, you just didn't have enough information. And that's where it gets muddled for me, Ruth. I don't want you to blindly go where I go. I count on you doubting me." He turned to her, and traced his fingers gently across her forehead. "I look to the gentle folds that form here, rather like an external conscience sitting next to me. Sometimes I disagree, and I tell you, but often your lovely troubled forehead makes me pause, and think, and wonder just exactly what it is that has distressed you. I don't want that to stop."

Ruth laughed softly. "I'll still do that. I'm not sure I could stop even if I wanted to." She smiled at him. "I understand the difference. Question you, Harry, but don't doubt your motives, or your commitment to the best solution. That's what you're asking."

"Yes. That's what I'm asking."

Ruth shook her head, but she was smiling. "Oh, those grey areas. We analysts don't much like them, you know? Black and white are quite a bit more comfortable."

"You'd like to think you want the black and white, Ruth, but one of the reasons you're so expert at what you do is your passion. You care. It matters to you if right is done. You have this extraordinary faith in the world, in its goodness, and that generally leads into grey areas, and very messy ones." Harry gave her a soft smile. "I've envied you your belief in good sometimes."

"You have it too, Harry. You're just not quite so bloody starry-eyed about it."

Harry smiled at her, his love so evident in his eyes. "You do see the best in me. I hope that's realistic love, Ruth, because I very much want this to last. I don't want to disappoint you, but I have to make decisions as I see them. I feel that I have my own little corner of the world, and if I can make it at all better, that's to the good. But I don't always do right. Sometimes when I make mistakes, people die, and I have to live with that. Armour is required. I just want you to know that I love you, even as I wear it."

"I love you too, Harry. I love what's under the armour." He was much too serious for her to tell him she had just remembered him reading the paper. Ruth knew that if she ever had a question about whether he wore his armour with her, she had a lovely memory to take out.

They drove on in companionable silence for a time, before Ruth brought up the beauty of the church in Bath, and how much she had enjoyed the day with him. They promised they would go there again someday, for a longer time. Before they knew it, Harry was turning into the city.

"There's another thing I want to talk with you about. Actually, something I want to show you." Ruth tamped down her natural curiosity and didn't ask questions until Harry was ready to talk about it. She was practicing what he had asked her to do, just trusting him.

They drove to a part of the city she hadn't seen, some manufacturing, abandoned warehouses, badly used buildings. He pulled to the curb outside one of them, a drab, dirty structure that looked virtually uninhabited. "You brought this to mind, Ruth, with your questions over breakfast yesterday."

Ruth leant forward, and peered up at the building in front of them. "What is this place?"

"My very own safe house. Declassified. Unknown to all but a few. I purchased the fourth floor of this building with no connection to the security services or the government. Having been booted out on my ear various times, and not knowing whom to trust, I felt a need for it."

Ruth looked at him as he peered through the windscreen, his face so serious, his eyes having taken on the tired, guarded look of the Harry she had known for so long. She tried to do as she had done in Bath, superimpose her Harry, the one that laughed so often, over this one, but she had little success. Ruth sighed. They were truly back now. Not on the Grid, but might as well be.

Ruth unlatched her belt, and moved over next to Harry, and then she reached down and unlatched his. She put her hand on his cheek and held it there, softly. He turned to look at her, and she leant up and kissed him with all the love she was feeling. She willed that love to move from her heart, through her lips and into him. And, suddenly, there he was again. The coldness disappeared with the warmth from her mouth, and he put his arms around her, holding her close.

Harry spoke close to her ear. "I wanted you to know about this place, because I never want you to be so alone that you have nowhere to go, Ruth. I want you always to be safe. If you ever hear the word Sunstrike, you come here, yes? And I will be here the moment I can. You'll remember this?" His voice had an urgency to it, and Ruth responded quickly, to calm him.

"Yes, Harry. I'll remember." She started to say that she would never need it, but stopped. She knew, as Harry did, that in this line of work, things just happened.

* * *

Mik Maudsley's military and intelligence training had come in very handy. Now all he had to do was get the information into the right hands.

As the car pulled into the garage, Maudsley moved further into the shadows. He watched Pearce get out of the car, and for a moment thought of simply crossing the street and going to him. Until he saw him go around to the passenger door and open it for someone else. A woman.

Maudsley recognised her from his files as Ruth Evershed, and he couldn't believe his luck. He knew he had to get his information to Pearce, but doing it directly felt too dangerous. All his research had told him there was no one remotely close to the Head of Section D. Now, as the couple pulled bags from the boot of the car and made their way up the front steps, it was clear that there was, in fact, someone very close to Harry Pearce.

* * *

**CHAPTER TWENTY**

* * *

Ruth stepped in to Harry's house for the second time in her life, and had to laugh at the memory. Harry followed her in and closed the door. He put down the bags and put his arms around her from the back, capturing her. "You're laughing again, Ruth. Amused by my body, and now my home. You seem to find me enormously entertaining."

"Harry, please tell me I didn't come over here in fuzzy slippers and pyjamas. Until this moment, I seem to have blocked that memory out." She put her face in her hand and shook her head.

"Your attire was absolutely logical. You were distraught. You were desperately in love with me, my Ruth, and you had just heartlessly rejected me when I asked you to dinner." Harry moved her hands away from her face, and kissed her cheek. "You did manage to put on a coat. That was a blessing." He moved his lips down to her neck, first on the right side, and then travelling over to the left, kissing the charms again. "Ummm," he said softly, "I do like these little baubles. I may have to kiss them every day, just for luck."

"Clever of me to get them, then." Ruth turned around and caught his lips with her own. Henry James Pearce was back, in the comfort of his own home. They might as well have been in Bath. Ruth's head was spinning a bit trying to keep up with him, but she reckoned she'd better get used to it. Life with Harry was never going to be boring.

They had picked up Chinese on the way from the safe house to Harry's, so they sat at the kitchen table with chopsticks and ate directly from the cartons whilst sipping wine. They couldn't seem to talk of anything but travelling, everywhere and anywhere. Now that they knew what kind of travellers they would be together, there was no country in the world that was off limits.

Harry speared a piece of almond chicken and popped it in his mouth. "There's been a shift in me. I can feel it as surely as I feel my love for you. I've played at wanting The Grand Tour, like a man who always says he will buy a boat, or purchase the summer home, but never really intends it in reality. But now I want it. I want those days we just spent in Bath to stretch out ahead of us, but in Madrid and Rome."

"I was just talking with Zaf about that the other day." At Harry's look, she said quickly, "Well, not about exactly that, Harry, just about wanting to travel. He's young, certainly, but he's lived. He spent his gap year travelling around the world, on money he'd earned from odd jobs."

"You admire him." Harry took a sip of wine.

"Yes, very much. I know he's somewhat young, and quite the lady's man, but I trust him completely. He's intensely loyal to his friends, and highly principled. I sort of think of him as the Grid conscience."

"Well, then, perhaps you can tell me why he can find no other adjectives apart from the word 'cool.' I can't say exactly why it annoys me so much, except that it has something to do with civilization going straight to hell without even an adequate vocabulary to describe it."

Ruth laughed. "I know what you mean. Makes me feel old. I want to hand people dictionaries. And of course, it's compounded by the fact that they know practically nothing about any kind of mythology, or classic English literature." She smiled at Harry, shaking her head. "Do I sound like a terrible snob?"

"Absolutely. A couple of old fuddy-duddies, Ruth, that's us. It's hard to keep up, really."

Ruth gave up with the chopsticks and just plucked out some barbecue pork with her fingers. "It _is_ hard to keep up. Another reason I am so in awe of Malcolm. He stays right on top of everything new, and seems to love doing it." She looked across at Harry. "He knows about us, doesn't he?"

Harry smiled back at her. "Yes. I had to, Ruth."

"I knew that you couldn't have spent the night in my room at Havensworth without telling him. I wouldn't have wanted you to." She suddenly looked up in alarm. "But not Jo?"

"No, Malcolm covered for us."

"Good. I like Jo, but she's prone to the dramatic. And to gossip." Ruth laughed. "Which I seem to be indulging in a bit right now. Is this inappropriate? For me to talk about my co-workers to our boss?"

"It would be if everything you were saying weren't already highly evident to your boss." He looked across from her, his eyes soft. "I know how to keep a secret, Ruth."

Ruth smiled back at him. "You seem to be a trustworthy sort of fellow." They had another of those moments that was happening more lately. Time stopped, holding nothing but their eyes in it. But then they both came back to the present, and Ruth continued. "As we're gossiping, perhaps you can answer a question for me."

"I will if I can."

"I get the distinct feeling that Ros doesn't like me. Am I just being sensitive, or do you see it too?"

"I don't see it, but I can't always be trusted to understand how women relate to each other. I generally have enough trouble just relating to them myself." Ruth smirked at him, as he knew she would, and Harry continued. "But my first guess would have to do with the fact that Ros considers herself a field agent, and she sees you as being of the desk spook variety."

Ruth sat up a little straighter. "And tell me what field agents would do without us?"

Harry put his hands up in front of him and laughed. "Just the messenger, my love. You asked, I answered."

Ruth relaxed a little. "Sorry. It's just that what we do is terrifically valuable. Indispensible, Harry."

"You don't have to convince me, Ruth." He couldn't resist just one more bite of chicken, which he pulled out with his fingers. "It may also just be a case of two very strong women with somewhat different styles." Harry leant back in his chair. "We were talking about passion earlier, you and I? You know I love you, Ruth, but … "

"Ah, that's never a good way for a sentence to start. What have I done now?" Ruth asked.

"… _but_, you do tend to just blurt out whatever is on your mind. _I_, of course, enjoy it immensely."

"Of course."

"But others might wish for a slight pause between brain and tongue."

"An example, please, Harry."

Harry leant back further and put his hands behind his head. "Well, in the briefing about the thermobaric bombs, I think Ros said, and I'm paraphrasing here, 'Sometimes you have to destroy a lot of haystacks to find the needle,' and you shot back, 'and sometimes you have to stop hiding behind metaphors.'" He leant forward again, smiling and taking her hand. "You have a quick wit, my Ruth, and your own sharp tongue to go with it. Ros might find that less than endearing, since she considers that _her_ role on the Grid."

"Harry, I would have to disagree with you." She took a sip of her wine, smiling slyly over the rim of her glass. "I think you see perfectly how women relate to each other."

They sat in silence for a long moment, just happy to be in each other's company. Finally Ruth spoke, her eyes locked on Harry's. "I like how it feels here, Harry. I like your house." She looked from the kitchen table out to the lounge. "Are there other rooms I should see?" She tilted her head, peering back at Harry. "Upstairs, perhaps?"

He leant back in his chair again, just enjoying the moment, before he spoke. "You need to understand something." He took a dramatic pause as she waited, her eyebrows raised. "I have never, ever, had a woman in that bedroom upstairs." He smiled at Ruth. "Apart from Scarlet, of course."

Ruth smiled. "Then I shall receive the honour with the appropriate reverence, Harry."

Harry stood and took Ruth's hand in his. "That's good. Genuflection is appreciated." He walked her over to the landing, but stopped at the first step. He turned and held her for just a moment. "I'm very glad you're here. And I'm glad I saved it." He kissed her lightly, gently, and then walked before her up the stairs.

* * *

Maudsley watched the lights downstairs as they flickered out, and the light upstairs go on. Yes, someone was very close to Harry Pearce.

He had thought he could do it, just take the money and shut up. In the two weeks since the fire, all his debts erased, finally some peace in his family, in his life. They were only seven men, after all. And they were bad men to boot.

All he had to do was let the report come out tomorrow and keep his mouth shut. And live with it for the rest of his financially secure life. Well, he couldn't live with it.

Maudsley turned, thinking he heard a noise. The watcher being watched? He knew it would be dangerous to try to contact Harry Pearce. He moved further into the shadows. But now he had his way to Pearce. He would go home and read Ruth Evershed's file, and tomorrow, before the report came out, he would find a way to her.

* * *

Ruth stepped to the top of the stairs and looked at Harry, who inclined his head to the right. She went down the hall to the end and walked through the open door of Harry's bedroom.

Her first thought was that she had been wrong in what she had expected. Why she had assumed it would be dark, she didn't know, but she thought it might have had something to do with his office, so shadowed and red in its tones. This room was light, very masculine, but lovely at the same time. A room she could live in as well.

She was reminded again of Harry's dual nature. If he was a different man at home than he was on the Grid, and she very well knew this to be true, then the lightness made perfect sense.

Of course, the king sized bed was the focal point of the room, but the room itself was large enough to comfortably have two side chairs at the end of the bed, facing a small fireplace, with a small round oak table between them. The walls and ceilings were white and beige, except for a dark butterscotch-hued panel the size of the bed and just behind it, that ran to the ceiling from the top of the oak headboard. The chairs were the same colour as the panel, as were various pillows on the bed, mixed in with cream and beige.

Two large windows that mimicked the ones in the lounge below, with their ceiling to floor curtains, white sheer under a lighter hue of the dark butterscotch, made the room seem even larger. And a window seat, with more pillows, where Ruth could imagine herself curling up with a good book.

A long, low bureau held a picture in a frame that Ruth recognised as Catherine, and another of a young man, perhaps eleven, in cricket whites that she assumed to be Graham. Those were the only two photos in the room. The rest of the bureau held small sculptures, a bronze horse among them, and a trio of candles.

It was elegant, but lived in, and the view beyond the door into the large dressing room and bath revealed the dark wood Ruth had first expected, floor to ceiling, but the ceiling itself was whimsical, blue sky painted with what looked to be cherubs at the edges, a sort of wonderful miniature Sistine Chapel.

Harry watched her take this all in silently. She turned to him and smiled, and then walked toward him. "You are a man of many surprises, Harry."

He put his arms out and held her. "Not what you expected, I take it? I'll admit to having a designer, Ruth, it was easier. But I like it very much." He pulled away and kissed her softly. "Not that anyone's ever seen it, of course. I just pad about here with Scarlet, wondering why I paid so much for it." Harry looked into Ruth's eyes. "Now I'm glad I did, if you like it."

Ruth leant up and kissed him again. He was an enigma and yet not. Surprising and yet still completely Harry. The analyst in her wanted to understand who this man was, and the woman in her felt she would enjoy spending a lifetime doing it.

* * *

Harry showed Ruth the rest of the house, and they went down to tidy up the Chinese, got their bags and brought them upstairs. They bathed together in the steam in Harry's large glass-block shower, and then made love, gently, sweetly in his butterscotch bedroom. Ruth fell asleep quickly, curled against Harry, warm and safe. He followed soon after, feeling that he had never liked his bedroom quite as much as he did tonight.

But in the months to come, every night, Harry would get into this bed alone. He would watch Scarlet settle herself into her bed on the floor, and then watch as Phoebe and Fidget made their endless circles and found their spots to sleep on Ruth's side of the bed. But Ruth wouldn't be there.

For eighty-seven nights, before he finally slept next to his beloved Ruth again, the thought would always be on his mind that if he had known, if he had been able to look into the future, he never would have fallen asleep on that last night with her, the night he thought was only the beginning.

If Harry had known, he would have laid awake, feeling the softness of her skin, hearing her gentle breath, and whispering "I love you," until the sun rose.

* * *

**CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE**

* * *

Harry woke to the sound of his mobile buzzing, this time the reminder alarm. Thank God he had thought to do that before the week-end, to remind him of his meeting with the Home Secretary at 8:30 a.m. It was now 7:30 and he was behind on his day before he even started.

He turned and saw her lovely brown hair, tousled and tangled from making love right after their shower. When he parted the hair, he found her face, angelic, still asleep, lips in almost a kiss. He couldn't resist, so he kissed them, softly, and then nuzzled into her neck, smelling his own soap, suddenly so feminine on her skin.

"Mmmmm," she murmured, clearly not quite ready to face the day. He moved his hand down from her shoulder to her hip, and then back up over her breast, her skin so warm, so soft. He held it there, finding another way to wake her up. "Mmmmm, Harry." Now her eyes opened, and he thought with wonder that they were already full of love for him. "We're not in Bath any longer, are we?"

Harry laughed softly. "No, you're in my bedroom, and I can't tell you how wonderful it is to find you here." He took her in his arms, and they moved together in a full-length hug. Harry smiled as he felt himself begin to respond. "Christ, will there ever be a time that I don't want you?"

Ruth pressed against him, her voice still sleepy. "I hope not." She put her lips by his ear. "Do we have time?"

Harry exhaled into a sigh. "No. Unless you want to call the Home Secretary and tell him why I'm late."

Ruth didn't hesitate. "His number, please, Harry." She nuzzled into his neck, kissing him.

Harry laughed and kissed her quickly again before forcing himself out of bed. "Tonight, my Ruth. There is always tonight." Ruth smiled as she watched Harry walk to his closets, unselfconsciously wearing not a stitch of clothing.

Now she was beginning to wake up a little. "I have to go home sometime, Harry. I have cats."

Before Harry could think of what he was saying, he said, "Just go get them and come back here. I rather like cats. I'll adopt them."

Now Ruth sat up, watching him as he began to dress. "What are you saying, Harry?"

He stopped. Socks, boxers and white shirt open. Harry looked at her. He was obviously playing back what he had just said and was wondering the same thing. "What am I saying?"

Harry started to button his shirt as he spoke, but he was clearly still thinking it through. "I'm saying I want you here as much as possible, that I have loved the last four days and don't want them to end." He found his cufflinks in a box on his shelf. "And, I think I need to take a breath here, because we should probably at least get back to work for a day or so before I put your name on the box out front." Harry took a deep breath and smiled at Ruth, his eyebrows raised, looking for confirmation.

Ruth exhaled after realising she hadn't breathed properly since he began talking. "Yes, Harry, that's what you're saying." She swung her legs over to the floor and sat up, reaching over and picking up Harry's shirt from yesterday off the window seat, and putting it on. She stood up and buttoned his shirt, turning to look at him.

He just stared across at her, letting out a sigh at the same time. "You look adorable, Ruth." He pulled on his trousers, still looking at her. "No, you need to go home. I'll never make it to work if you keep doing that."

"Doing what?"

"Wearing my shirt so bloody well."

She came up behind him and whispered in his ear as she began to tuck his shirt into his trousers. "Shall I take it off?"

Harry took her arms tightly around his waist. He held her there, and stood quietly for a moment before speaking, as if it was easier to think without looking at her. He had just had what is commonly known as déjà vu. This moment, with Ruth's arms around him, standing and looking at his rumpled bed and the windows beyond. Harry's voice was soft, and he wasn't playing anymore.

"Ruth, I have to tell you how surprisingly easy it is to have you here, in my house, in my bedroom, and in my shirt. And not to repeat myself, my love, but reality continues to prove that dream of mine true. If it follows as it has done, you will need to be here with me."

Harry opened Ruth's arms and turned to face her. "I want to give you something. You'll need it today anyway, because you clearly are not going to be ready to leave when I am, and I _must_ go." He said these last words as if he were trying to convince both of them. Harry walked over to the burl wood box that had just held his cufflinks and pulled out a key. He held it up in front of her.

"This is not the key to my heart, dear Ruth, but it might as well be. The code to the alarm is 9-3-2-8. I won't bore you with the details, but it's a numerical equivalent of your name, and has been for a long time. Please set it when you go, and remember it, because you'll need it again." He pulled her close to him, and Ruth could feel his heart. It was beating just as fast as it had when he held her in Bath, just before they made love.

And now Ruth realised what a leap he was making for her. His armour down, he was opening his heart and his life to her in a way that seemed to baffle him, almost as if he were caught up in the current of a river that was taking him to places unknown. She remembered a morning not long ago, when she had asked aloud, _What do you do when your dreams come true?_ She was aware that in Harry's case, it was becoming a literal question.

She pulled away from him and looked into his eyes. She put the key he had just given her over her heart in her cupped hand. She could hardly think what to say, but the words came before she had time to think. "You're safe with me, Harry." She knew what she meant by that, but thought she needed to say more. "And it doesn't all have to happen now." She leant up and kissed him, softly. "We can talk about it tonight if you want, but let's do it at my house. I'll make you dinner, and you can spend the night with me, in my bed."

Harry held her close again and said, "Yes. Tonight. And we'll talk, Ruth."

Ruth's hand moved up to his cheek, and she pulled away. She looked up to where her hand was, and said, "No shave? I was looking forward to watching you."

Harry looked at his watch, "Oh, Christ, later and later. You'll have to make do with the electric kind, and so will I. Loathe it, but no time." He kissed the tip of her nose and made his way to the bathroom. Ruth perched on the chair in the dressing room and watched him as he ran the electric razor across his face, brushed his teeth and his hair, and took a final look before coming back out to her. She was smiling like an idiot again, she knew, but she couldn't help it.

There he was. Harry Pearce. The man she had loved for so long. She was in his bedroom, wearing nothing but his shirt. And she was blissfully happy.

"You'll need a tie, Harry." She stood and went to his closet. As her hands moved through the layers of silk, she could remember most of them. Ruth loved men's ties. Bound to dark or grey suits every day, Harry expressed his individuality with that one strip of silk. She saw the reds, the purples, the blues, and her mind travelled through days and years of sitting with him in meetings, or him leaning over her desk. As she had thought of kissing him in those moments, she also thought of touching the silk there at his chest, wondering how he chose each day, whether it was to fit his mood, or just random.

Today, she would choose for him. She saw the black and purple one, thickly striped, and she thought of her Harry and the Harry of the Grid. Two distinct men, two distinct colours. One bright, the other subdued. And she liked the idea that she would watch him today knowing that she had chosen this tie for him. It would remind her of this lovely morning.

She pulled it from the peg on the rack, liking the sound it made, the soft hush of silk against silk. Turning to Harry, she buttoned his top button, flipped up his collar, and looped it around his neck. Harry stood passive, gazing into her eyes with so much love she could actually feel its warmth on her skin.

"Don't look at me, Harry, I haven't even washed my face yet. I must be a sight."

"You're exquisite. You look like a woman who's repeatedly been made love to."

She let herself glance up to him quickly while she worked, and gave him a smile, before going back to her task. The final loop, then through and tighten. She folded his collar down over the tie, tilted her head and stood back a bit to inspect her work.

Harry raised his chin and looked in the mirror, then he looked back at her, narrowing his eyes. "I won't ask you how you got to be so good at doing that."

Ruth tried to look innocent. "Probably best."

He put his arms around her. "Whoever he was, Ruth, he let you go, and that makes him a bloody idiot. Can't very well be jealous of a bloody idiot, now can I?"

Ruth laughed. "I used to tie my father's tie for him when I was little, Harry. He couldn't do it to save his own life."

Harry held her tighter. "Well, it doesn't matter, because I've got you now, and I'm not letting go." He looked at his watch over her shoulder. "Christ, I'm late." He moved to get his shoes from the closet.

Ruth smiled at him, "Well, so much for constancy."

He turned and looked at her, his eyes soft. "I can only hope there will come a time that I will be able to leave you without feeling it's torture, Ruth. Because at this moment, the Home Secretary can go to sodding hell for all I care."

"Go, Harry. Go do your job. I'll see you later on the Grid. We'll sneak looks at each other, and all will be as it's always been." She walked over to him and kissed him, gently on the cheek. "We have lots of time, Harry. I'm not going anywhere."

Something tightened in Harry's heart when Ruth said that, and he would remember it later. At the time he thought it was just hard to leave her, but later, he would know that his psychic powers were set on high at that moment. He reached for his coat and his keys, and kissed her quickly.

"You'll be okay? I can't give you a lift, but there's a tube station just two blocks away. You're all right?"

"Harry. I'm a full-grown adult. I get myself to work every day. I'll be fine. And I know where the tube station is."

Harry peered out the windows, frowning. "It looks like rain. There are umbrellas in the stand at the door. Take one, just in case."

Ruth laughed. "I have my own. And I won't melt in a little rain. Cripes, Harry, how have I functioned every day without you to worry about me?" She patted him on the back, pushing him out the door. "Now go to your meeting, and play nice." Ruth followed him to the top of the stairs, and leant on the railing, watching him.

As he went down the stairs, he turned and said, "Oh, and I'm stopping at Adam's after my meeting to get Scarlet. I'll bring her back here before I come to the Grid." He smiled at her, and added softly, "Just so you know where I am."

The way he said it so touched Ruth that she felt the sting of tears start behind her eyes. They were both so hungry for this connection, to have someone to worry about, someone to worry about them. Her voice was soft, full of love. "Thanks, Harry."

He stopped at the bottom of the stairs and looked back up at her. He thought he had never seen anyone so beautiful in his life. Her bare legs, her lovely dishevelled hair, his wrinkled shirt and what he knew was underneath it, and her radiant smile. Another time he needed the spook's camera, he thought. So many moments he wanted to freeze in time.

"I love you, Ruth."

"I love you too, Harry. I'll see you later."

* * *

Maudsley watched from a distance as the front door opened, and then the garage. It was Pearce, but he was alone. Perfect. That meant that she was still inside.

When she did come out, he would pass her the tenner and would not let her give him change. Her file had been very helpful. He knew her now, and she wouldn't let it rest. She's a spook, and spooks follow clues. All he would have to do is look at her, crook his finger, raise an eyebrow, and she would know.

She would follow him, and he would lead her to his home, where he would point to the picture of Offa, King of Mercia that he had placed on the outside of his building early this morning. A bit dramatic, a bit cloak-and-dagger, but she would like that, wouldn't she?

She would know where to go. She would find the microfiche, and the information would get to Harry Pearce. No one would be the wiser, and Mik could live out the rest of his days in peace, at least knowing that he had done right by England in the end.

Now all he had to do was wait.

* * *

Ruth set the alarm and closed and locked the door behind her. The key had already found a place on her ring, and she looked at it again, smiling, before dropping it in her purse.

It was definitely raining, and as Ruth opened her umbrella, she was wondering if she should have been a little less stubborn and taken one of Harry's from the stand by the door. Hers had seen better days, and instead of forcing the rain to fall off of it, its slack metal allowed it to pool in puddles on the surface. She would get soaked, but as she had told Harry, she wouldn't melt.

She came down the steps and began her two-block walk to the tube station. Actually, it became more like a run, as she really was getting drenched. When she got to the blessed cover of the station, she went straight to the ticket machine and got her wallet out. A tall man in a wool cap stood to her left, trying to put a ten-pound note into the machine. Ruth was struggling to get her own money sorted when he spoke to her.

"Scuse me. Got any change? It's not taking notes."

"Uh, hang on." Ruth never minded doing this sort of thing. It sort of made her think it would help others be nicer, just in case she needed help someday. But, cripes, she was wet, her gloves were soaked, and her hands simply weren't working very well. She fumbled in her wallet, opening the change purse. She thought she had ten pounds worth of change, but wasn't sure. Juggling her umbrella, she tried to count from one hand to the other. "No … nearly … not quite."

He took what she had, gave her the note, and he suddenly turned to the machine, saying, "That'll do." He put his money in and got his ticket.

She was so close, just looking for another 50p. Ruth put the note in her mouth so she had both hands to work with. She called after him. "No, no, no! I've got … I've got some more somewhere."

He turned toward the trains, calling back to her, "Don't worry."

_There!_ Finally, she found it, and looked up. "No, no, here we are." She got her ticket. He was on his way through the turnstile now. She called after him. "Scuse me!" Now he was on his way to the trains. Ruth yelled after him, following him, "Hello?"

She walked out on to the platform. It was crowded, but she could see him a little way down, standing in the front. He was so tall, and the wool cap made him easy to find. She ran a bit, because she could hear that the train was coming, and she wanted to be sure to get his money to him. It wouldn't do, now that Ruth had found the money, to come out ahead on the trade. It was important for things to be fair, after all.

There was a space just behind him, and Ruth moved into it. He didn't turn round, so she touched his jacket to get his attention. "Scuse me. Your change!" She was almost yelling now over the sound of the train as it sped through the station.

Finally, he turned and looked at her. He had a sort of nice face, in a distracted way, Ruth thought. Now they could get on with it, she could give him his change, and then she could board the train, pull out her worn copy of "Mansfield Park," and see if it was at all possible to dry her hair before she got to work.

But he didn't take the change. He turned again toward the train. And now he didn't look so much distracted as frightened, Ruth thought. It was in his eyes. As if he had wanted to tell her something. As if she weren't just anyone who had change, but _the_ someone he needed to tell something to.

And suddenly, she heard a stomach-turning sound, a thump, and he was no longer there. Only the train, speeding by, in front of her. And the screech of the brakes . And disbelief.

Ruth wondered if anything had really happened at all. Had she talked to him? Had he been real? Her mind was unable to process what had just happened, and the world turned into a series of separate vignettes as she stood there. The metallic sound of the train stopping. A siren blaring, echoing through the cavernous space. A woman to her right, mouth open wide, screaming not with a voice, but with the sound of the brakes and the siren. The horrified looks of people on the platform. And still, Ruth couldn't move.

She frowned, and thought she must be in some sort of shock, because otherwise, wouldn't she be screaming, just like the blonde woman? Wouldn't she need to be more connected to what she was seeing, with what had just happened? She could still hear his voice in her head. Still feel the pressure of his back on her hand as she touched him.

For a moment she thought, _Maybe he's still alive_. Maybe he fell between the rails, and after the train passed he would stand up with his wool cap in place and put his hand out to take her change. Then she could get on the train, and get on with her life. But Ruth knew he no longer existed. She knew it down under her skin.

It was too loud. She needed to get away from the noise, so Ruth walked back the way she came, back the way he had come, retracing their path, the path he would never walk again. She felt strangely joined to him, as if he had transferred something to her in that tunnel. Some essence. His life. She was the one left behind, and just like that, his life had blinked out.

Ruth found herself outside, and it had stopped raining. She watched the paramedics in their yellow jackets as they rolled the cart into the station, and then she looked at her gloved hand with the change still in it. The change that belonged to him. The change she would never give him. And she opened her wallet and dropped it in.

There was no question what she would do next. There was only one person she wanted to see or talk to. She needed to touch him, to have him hold her, to know that in that split second the whole world hadn't turned upside down, that they still existed even if the man in the wool cap no longer did.

Ruth reached into her purse and took out her mobile, pressing the one button that would bring her peace. And there was his voice, low, soothing, a question in it, but open, full of love. "Ruth?"

"Harry." She calmed just a bit, just hearing him. "Where are you?"

"Just dropping Scarlet home, why?" He could hear what was in her voice. "What's happened, Ruth?"

He could tell she was walking now, could hear her breath coming fast. "I'm walking toward your house from the tube station, Harry. Can you pick me up, please? Something's happened."

What he heard in her voice was frightening him. Suddenly he wanted very much to see her, to know that she was all right. "I'm leaving now. Are you hurt?"

"No. I'm not hurt. Please hurry." She didn't need to ask twice.

"I'm getting in the car. Stay on the line until I see you, Ruth. Don't hang up. I'm driving now." Now he heard the sirens, saw the police cars, uniforms, people running. One block, then two. He needed to hear her again. "Ruth? You're all right, you're sure you're not hurt?" And then he saw her, wet, bedraggled, holding the phone to her ear, a haunted look on her face. Harry pulled over, stopped the car and stepped out. She walked into his arms and began to cry.


	8. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO**

* * *

She hadn't meant to cry. She had needed just to know that her life was still the same, but she wasn't expecting to fall to pieces with him. As she walked toward him, Harry's face showed the concern and love he had for her, showed that she had worried him, and he looked vulnerable. The combination of what she had just experienced and the look on his face had put her over the edge, and tears had come. Now she was ashamed and upset with herself.

As Ruth sat on her sofa with him, her head in the crook of his arm, she felt safe again, but she was beginning to understand something new about this relationship. Harry had a dual nature, yes, but Ruth needed to have one as well. He had enough to cope with on a daily basis without worrying about her in the bargain. He was comforting her now and he was probably being missed elsewhere. If she wanted to be a bloody spook, she couldn't have him come to rescue her every time something happened. Would he be expected to do this with Ros, or with Jo?

She had wanted to go home, so that's where Harry took her. Harry knew that Ruth hadn't seen nearly as many deaths as he had, and he knew how empathetic she was. Her pain was very real. All she seemed to need right now was comfort, so that's what he gave. He was able to understand that she had witnessed a man go under a train, a suicide, he assumed, but he hadn't gotten much more.

She had gone in to wash her face when they'd first arrived at her house, and Harry made a quick call to a friend with the plods. He'd said he was just curious, because the tube station was only two blocks from his house. His friend said he'd call back as soon as he knew anything.

The few moments between the ring of his mobile and seeing her on the street had been agony for Harry. And as he held her there by the car, he felt again the danger of their jobs. He hadn't thought of Ruth's job as particularly dangerous, although she had certainly been in some tough spots since coming to the Grid. Certainly not like Ros or Adam or Zaf.

But in those moments he had thought she might be hurt, when he heard the sirens? He thought perhaps a bomb had gone off in the tube station, something horrible had happened, and he had felt the loss of her so acutely that he almost joined her in the tears. And Harry knew this would not do. He needed to pull himself together.

Ruth tightened her arms around him and kissed Harry on the cheek. He turned and brushed her lips with his, and then pulled back to look at her. "Better?"

She gave him a sad smile, "Much, Harry. Thank you. I didn't mean to be so fragile."

"It's never easy to see someone die, Ruth. No matter how it happens. Give yourself some time to work it through. And if you need to see Diana, I'll arrange it." He held her close to him. "I'm just glad you're safe. And I'm glad I was close by."

Ruth sat up and faced him on the sofa, her arm across the back. "I shouldn't have done that, asked you to come and rescue me that way. I want you to know that I would have been okay even if you hadn't been close by. I don't want you worrying about me." Harry was starting to say something to disagree, and she put her hand to his cheek, looking softly at him. "I'm glad to be here with you now, Harry, but I don't want to feel as if our love gives me some sort of special privileges."

He looked at her incredulously, and his voice rose, "Special privileges? I love you, Ruth. Let's go back to the banker and the shopgirl, shall we? If you, the shopgirl, watched a man kill himself before your eyes, don't you think you might call your banker to come round for a hug?" Harry smiled at her, running his fingers through her now-dry hair. "I'm glad you called me. And you are the opposite of fragile, my Ruth."

Ruth looked down at her hands, her mouth set. "I can't ask you to come running every time something upsets me. I love our work, Harry, and I want to be good at it." She looked up at him. "What you said last night about Ros? About her seeing me as a desk spook? That got me thinking. I've never thought of us as field agents or desk agents, I've thought of us as a team, all of us. But I realised when you said that, that I don't take the risks the rest do, and maybe they don't think of me as capable of it." She looked down at her hands again before raising her chin and looking back at Harry. "Maybe you don't either."

Everything that came to Harry's mind sounded disingenuous to him. She was right, and that was all there was to it. Indescribably valuable to the team, resourceful beyond measure, Ruth had allowed them, time and time again, to work through operations with successful outcomes in ways that wouldn't have been possible without her. She had saved lives, absolutely no question. But a field agent? Running about with guns? No, Harry didn't really think she had the stomach for it.

And in this split second, looking into Ruth's very sincere eyes, Harry was torn between his promise always to be honest with her, and his allowance that he may have to lie to her. And he wondered where this answer fell on that scale. He opted for somewhere in the middle, and he knew she would see through it. But it would buy him some time.

"You know your value to the team, Ruth … "

Not much time, unfortunately. "Don't do that, Harry. I know the tone you use when you don't want to say something, and that's bloody it."

Another tack. "Is that what you want? To be a field agent? I thought you enjoyed your work on the Grid."

Ruth pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows at him. "Still not an answer. Yes, I do enjoy my work on the Grid, Harry. And yes, I know you've seen my training scores, as have I. Not stellar in the area of field work, but I'd like to be given a chance to improve. Not all the time, but to be versatile enough to do some work in the field."

Ruth realised she was coming on a little strong. Poor man came to comfort her, and now she was grilling him. She willed her voice into a softer tone. "Do you remember what I did with Angela Wells? You had faith in me then, even when I didn't think I could do it. She had a detonator, Harry. For all I knew, I could say something that would have blown Thames House and all of us off the map. Wasn't that classified as field work?"

Harry remembered. _A born spook_. What had he meant by that? That she had a natural instinct, yes, but most of all, that she _loved_ it. He had seen it in her eyes, and it was something that couldn't be trained. That was what he had seen that night, and he saw it in her eyes now.

"Are you asking for more assignments in the field, Ruth?"

She nodded. "I'd like to be given a chance, yes. Not all the time, but more than I have been."

He was taking her seriously, and she could feel the difference. They might as well be in Harry's office, and she appreciated his answer, "I'll take it under consideration. When it's warranted."

They sat looking at each other for a moment. Harry wanted very much to kiss her, and was fairly sure that would be inappropriate at this point. But she looked absolutely adorable. "Is our business concluded?" he asked her.

She saved him the trouble of having to ask for a kiss. Ruth put her arms around him and pressed her lips to his, tenderly. "I love you, Harry." She put her face next to his ear, pulling herself toward him. "Thank you, my banker, for the hug. The shopgirl feels better." She moved away, smiling a little, but her eyes took on the slightly haunted look Harry had seen earlier. "I still can see his face. I think it will take a long time for me to forget it."

Ruth paused for a moment, and she seemed suddenly far away to Harry. "But there was something else. I don't know, I can't describe it, Harry, but it felt like a … like a drop somehow. You know in training, how they say to look at their eyes? His eyes … I don't know … he looked as if … as if he … _knew_ me. Or at least knew who I was."

"You're saying you think it was deliberate? That he chose you somehow? To what purpose?"

"I don't know. It happened very fast, and I was so bloody consumed with getting the change out of my wallet that I didn't see much of his face. But what I did see didn't seem random somehow."

"Did you recognise him? Had you ever seen him before?"

Ruth looked down at her hands. "No. Never. But I'll never forget him. I would recognise him if I saw a photo, certainly."

"I don't know, Ruth. It sounds like a coincidence to me. A depressed man and a coincidence. Do you still have the note? Can I see it?"

Ruth went to the kitchen, where she had left her purse on the table. She pulled out the ten-pound note and handed it to Harry. She leant back on the counter while he studied it in the light from her kitchen windows.

Harry turned it over twice, three times, and shook his head slightly. "There's nothing on it."

Ruth couldn't believe it. She had been so certain. "Are you sure? It has the feel of a classic drop."

Harry walked toward her, the note in his outstretched hand. "That's the trouble with spies, always looking for meaning in everything." Ruth took it from him, looking down at it. She knew Harry was trying to be understanding, but she could hear a lightness his voice that was telling her he thought she had imagined it.

Harry was worried about her. "Are you okay?"

Ruth saw the look that he got when he was about to put his arms around her, and she warned him back with her eyes. She was starting to think she was sounding silly, chasing ghosts. She wanted to be respected, and taken seriously. Harry saw the look, and he gave her space.

She answered quickly. " Yes."

"You certain?" He wasn't quite sure he believed her.

Ruth kept looking at the note, holding it against the wallet in her hand. "It's silly, it's just a stranger, I ... Just can't quite get the image out of my mind. It all happened so quickly, and, uh… oh, God ... Sorry."

While she was talking, Harry was aware that he needed to focus, as he was having another of those moments where he was losing himself in her. He looked at the necklace, seeing the tiny glint of silver, and he was taken back to Bath, to the kisses he had placed on her neck. If he didn't do something, he would lean down and kiss them again, and he knew that wasn't what she wanted or needed right now. He made do with a hand on her shoulder, almost touching the charms with his thumb, through the fabric of her blouse.

He definitely needed something to do with his hands. And she needed comforting. He thought of just the thing.

"Sweet tea. It's what you need." He saw the kettle, and now just had to find the tea. He moved toward the cupboard, as Ruth continued.

Ruth was still trying to describe what she had seen. "There was something in his manner."

Now, Harry thought, the question was, which cupboard? He called to her across the kitchen. "Tea bags?"

"Um, second shelf down. " She watched Harry pull out the plastic container that held the bags, but she made no move to help him. Ruth really wanted to put words to what she was feeling, what she was remembering. "His face was ... er ... gosh, I wish I could describe it. It was like he was trying to tell me something."

Now Harry was at the sink, beside her. He was looking for cups. It took him just a moment to answer her, and Ruth felt a lack of urgency from him. She thought he wasn't taking her entirely seriously. Finally, he turned to her as he pulled the cup down. "Well, he was about to kill himself. I'm not sure how much you could read from his face."

"Oh, I know." Everything Harry was saying was perfectly reasonable. Ruth was beginning to feel slightly ridiculous, but she couldn't shake the suspicion that there was more to this than Harry thought. _If only there had been something on that note_.

She looked over at him, watching him as he started the tea. He was looking at her now too, with concern, and she felt him wanting her to let it go. "And your imagination, especially after a shock like that. Could play tricks."

Ruth made a small, noncommittal sound, not a yes, not a no. Harry looked at her, seeing everything he loved in Ruth. And he thought, really, this was about a man who died. A man who took his own life right in front of her, and she was trying to make sense of it. Again, Harry's heart tightened. He longed to take her in his arms and make it all go away, but ultimately he knew he couldn't do that. What he could do was give her time. He said, softly, "Promise me you'll take the morning off."

Ruth didn't answer him. She was watching him now, as he measured out the sugar. She wore that smile again, the one he loved so much. The one that told him how much she loved him. "How very English," she said, looking back up at him. "Sweet tea."

As she looked at him, Ruth saw in Harry's eyes what she had heard earlier. _I love you_. He was doing what he could to help her through this. These were the eyes she had gotten to know so well in Bath, and the smile that he wore there. The one that said they would get through whatever faced them, and they would get through it together.

If his phone hadn't rung in just that moment, Harry would have gone to her and folded her into his arms, her need for space be damned. But it did ring, and that saved him from doing something he knew might seem patronising.

He could sense how she was feeling, and he wanted to take her seriously. He just didn't believe there was anything to it. She had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, and she wanted to do more work in the field. He put those two things together, and he could only come up with the belief that this was Ruth's imagination.

He nodded to her, indicating that he had to take the call, and turned away.

Harry pushed the button on his mobile. "Yes?"

It was the call he was waiting for. His friend from the police, speaking very quickly, and telling him the last thing he was expecting. "Man named Maudsley. Head of Security for Southeast Prisons. Is that what you needed?" Harry's heart sank. So, after all, more than Ruth's imagination. Harry didn't happen to believe in _this_ kind of coincidence.

"Yes." He couldn't tell her. She was already upset, and this would only feed the fire. He would get more information, and then they would talk. He would give her a proper debrief. But for now, he would let her be, with a morning off and sweet tea.

He walked back, and stood behind her as she filled the kettle. She seemed to be doing as he asked, letting it go.

Here was the moment they had talked about in the car. It wasn't really lying, he said to himself. He was only postponing. He wanted to hold her, to kiss her goodbye, but Harry now had a vague sense of betrayal, and couldn't bring himself to do it. "I've got to go. I'm late already," he said to the back of her head. He put his hand low on her arm, and squeezed. She seemed very lost in her own thoughts and in the making of the tea.

She looked around, distracted. "I'll be fine." He had his permission. Now he could go. And he told himself he would tell her later. He was certain of it.

* * *

Harry had redone his tie, and was back to his role as Section Head as he walked through the emergency workers and found a familiar face. He showed his badge and walked up to the Special Branch Officer. Couldn't remember his name, but Harry put out his hand as if he did. The man shook it. "Harry." Obviously the man remembered him.

The officer had a sort of self-important air about him, and the familiar arrogant tone of Special Branch. "Well I suspect the Home Secretary will want this handled discreetly."

Harry would put up with him in order to get the information he needed. "Do we know any more?" He had to find out if this was indeed Maudsley.

" Formal ID hasn't been done, so..." _Yes, yes_, Harry thought, _get on with it. Is it Maudsley, or isn't it?_

"Informally?"

" Yes, it's him."

* * *

Ruth had some friends among the plods herself, and it didn't take her long to find out his identity. Now he had a name. Mik Maudsley. He was no longer just the tall man with the wool cap. He had a name and a family, and a job. Head of Security for Southeast Prisons. And that was one to ponder.

Not a butcher, or a banker, or a shopkeeper, but a man with a background in Intelligence, and a very important job. And he was dead. Now she knew it hadn't been a coincidence. He was trying to say something to her, and Ruth was determined to find out what it was. Not to be a field spook, not for the excitement of it, but because he had charged her with the task.

He had given her that mission, and Ruth knew that she couldn't just go to work, just move through her days without following it through. She would have his eyes, Maudsley's eyes, looking back at her until she figured out the puzzle. A man who was now dead, who could no longer speak for himself, had looked her in the eyes and asked her a question. She didn't know what the question was yet, but she would find out.

* * *

**CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE**

* * *

Ruth was going on a hunch, just a feeling she had. Maudsley was Head of Security for Southeast Prisons, and one of them, Cotterdam, had just gone up in flames two weeks ago.

One phone call was all it took. Ruth had gotten to know Anna, a sweet girl, late thirties, bit of a librarian type, when she was at GCHQ. They'd shared a couple of drinks after work, "spinsters making do," Anna had called it. She wasn't really Ruth's cup of tea, but they had stayed in touch, even after Ruth had gone to MI5 and Anna had been transferred to Clerical at Special Branch. An email here, a phone message there.

Anna's task at Special Branch was to ready the reports. It had only taken a moment for her to agree to a drink with Ruth sometime later this week, just to catch up. It had taken a little longer for Ruth to convince her to let her borrow one of the file copies of the Cotterdam Incident Report, but Anna had smiled genuinely as she handed it to her at the park bench where they met. Ruth hugged her and thanked her, also genuinely, telling Anna how glad she would be to see her on Wednesday night for that drink.

Maudsley's file, which Ruth had managed to get from another contact after explaining that she was tasked to work up a profile, had told her nothing. Except that all of her senses told her this was not a man who would commit suicide. From what Ruth read, Maudsley had everything to live for.

Another phone call had gotten Ruth the link, just a slip of the tongue, really, but those were always the best kind. One of the file clerks at the Prisons Office had told her that Maudsley was at Cotterdam on the night of the fire. He knew this because Maudsley himself had mentioned over a beer, or four, how lucky it was that he'd not been there exactly when it happened.

Ruth needed to speed-read the report, but she didn't want to do it with all the prying eyes out on the Grid. As she walked through the pods, she looked first to Harry's office to see if he was in, because she wanted to share what she'd learned with him. But as she saw it was dark, she had another idea. She went to his door, and simply let herself in.

Had she ever been in Harry's office without him here? Ruth looked around, still in the dark. There was some light coming through the glass from the main room outside, but other than that, his office had the shadowy feel it always seemed to have. And it had something else, the rarefied air of an inner sanctum. Ruth took a deep breath, and was reminded of what she'd said to Harry last night, about entering his bedroom with reverence.

Harry's bedroom was infinitely more welcoming than this space, but Ruth had to admit, for all the austerity she felt here, it also had Harry in it. Standing in the dark, her back leaning on the door she had just come through, the memories washed over her. As with everything concerning Harry these days, she had to put them all in their proper place, fit them into the puzzle of the Harry she knew now, the one she had awakened with this morning.

The strongest memory was brought on by the dark of the room. She had come in to try to comfort Harry after Clive McTaggart, a man very much like him, had died. When she asked if McTaggart was married, Harry had replied that he probably considered himself married to the service. It had so clutched at Ruth's heart to think of a man, flesh and blood, seeing himself as wed to something as cold and unfeeling as the Security Services were bound by nature to be.

At the time she had thought it sounded almost like a priest, lying prostrate on the floor, giving himself to the church. Wearing the symbolic ring of marriage without the warmth of a body in bed with you each night. The joining of something warm to something cold. The inequality of it.

And then she had looked at Harry, and thought, _Oh God, not Harry too? Is that how he thinks of himself?_ And she had just blurted out what her mind was thinking, with no pause between brain and tongue, _Well, that's all right then. I was worried he died alone and lonely._

It was a horrible thing to say, and Harry had looked up with that horror on his face. Only for a split second, though, and then she saw resignation, which, to Ruth, was worse. And it had taken every ounce of strength she had not to go to him, put her arms around him there in the dark, and say, "I'm warm. I'm here. Don't deny yourself this."

But she hadn't. She'd made a feeble offer that if he wanted to talk to someone she was free, something like that. Of course, he'd said no. It was another of her regrets, one more time she should have gone to him, taken his face in her hands, and made him see her. Made him recognise who she was, how much she could give to him if he would only let her.

But now he did know. Finally, Harry knew. They held each other, body and soul, she and Harry. And the thrill of it filled her now, as she leant on his door. On the inside of his door, not on the outside of it.

And Ruth was understanding, day by day, the grey areas of their commitment to the Services. Really it was to people like Mik Maudsley that they were committed. Not to just a cold idea, but to people who can't speak for themselves. The innocents who are just going through their day, making their way to work on the bus, having lunch in an outdoor square, shopping. The ones who become targets of terror just by virtue of their numbers and by the impact their deaths could make.

For a moment, Ruth stood in Harry's office, wondering what to do. She didn't think anyone had seen her come in. She knew from years of experience that it was impossible to see anyone at Harry's desk when it was dark inside and there was light on the Grid.

Smiling like a truant child, Ruth walked over and lowered herself into his chair behind his desk. _Like sitting on bloody Mount Olympus_, she thought. She put her hands on either side of the desk, and now she understood why Harry liked to do that. Such a feeling of power. The Captain on his bridge. And then the power went straight to her head. Ruth simply stood up, walked over to the wall, and flipped on the light.

When she sat back down and opened the report to read, she looked up and saw Jo. There was a combination of amazement and awe in Jo's eyes, and she gave Ruth a bit of a crooked smile. Ruth remembered her thoughts in Bath, when she was wondering how long the secret could be kept. She smiled back at Jo, and then Ruth turned her attention to the report.

* * *

Harry stepped into the pod and removed his leather gloves. It hadn't even completed opening, and he was craning his neck to look at Ruth's empty station. _Good_, _she's taken my advice_, he thought, but at the same time, he felt a vague disappointment. He'd wanted to see her. He'd been worrying about her all morning.

The feeling was back. The gut feeling, his sixth sense. And it was coming more regularly since he'd seen her earlier. He'd learned to trust it over the years, to trust that although he might not know what it was saying to him, it was saying something. Harry felt with growing alarm that the dread was somehow connected to Ruth.

Right now, Harry was completely divided. If any other agent had come to him with this, he would have asked them to investigate it further. He had told Ruth to stay home and drink sweet tea. He knew he was too close to Ruth, that he couldn't be objective, but he didn't want her poking about in something that was more than she could handle. And when he heard himself say that in his head, he detested the sound of it. _Patronising, superior, selfish bloody bastard._

Turning his head to the right, he saw her. Sitting at his desk. _My desk?_

Had anyone else ever sat at his desk? He knew Juliet had while he'd been banished from the Grid. She'd made a proper mess of things in there, but that was another story. His first thought was, _Well, so much for secrets, Ruth_. His second was how beautiful she looked there, completely lost in what she was studying. His third, however, was the most surprising. She looked like she could be the head of this section. She looked right somehow, as if she belonged there. And how did that fit in with the woman he so desperately felt he needed to protect?

He walked straight there and slid the door open, tilting his head at her in a question. She looked up at him, and Harry had a bit of trouble keeping his face moulded into the stern look he had planned to greet her with. He was utterly charmed by her, sitting in his office, at his desk. In truth, he loved that she continued to surprise him.

Ruth clearly had something she wanted to tell him. "Still think it's a depressive coincidence?"

_Is there no stopping you, Ruth?_ Harry finally gave in to the smile that was bubbling at the corners of his mouth, "See you're doing what you were told, taking it easy." He took his coat off, and for a moment, wondered where he should be in his own office. He could see that it hadn't occurred to Ruth to give up his chair. Having never faced this situation before, Harry was considering, amused, how exactly he was to exert his authority.

"I've asked around, Harry ," Ruth held up a photo. "He's Mik Maudsley. Head of Security of Southeast Prisons." Harry stared at the photo, and all he could think was, _Christ, she's smart_. Why had he ever thought she would let this be? And why in God's name did he think that she couldn't find out what he had decided not to tell her? Harry straightened his jacket, and moved toward the front of his desk.

He looked at the photo in Ruth's hands. "Wife, family, everything to live for. Nothing to suggest he was depressed or suicidal." Harry still hadn't said anything. If she hadn't been so eager about the information she was imparting, she would have noticed. And she would have known that he wasn't saying anything because he already knew what she was telling him.

Harry walked closer to his desk. Ruth took a deep breath to give him the rest of what she had learned. "Oh, apart from this. He was at Cotterdam the night of the fire."

Harry stopped. This was a piece of information he didn't have, and his expression showed it. Now he spoke. "Cotterdam?"

"Yes, seems so. But," and here Ruth pulled out a thick report with the customary black and red cover, "No mention of it in the Special Branch Report."

_Why did he continue to underestimate her?_ Harry frowned. "Thought that wasn't due out until later today."

Ruth held up the report. "Well, I managed to get a … sneak preview." Harry was at a loss now, speechless. She had gotten further in the last couple of hours than he had, and he had talked with more people than he wanted to admit. The woman was amazing. "It's a cover-up, Harry. It's 360 pages of fiction. It concludes the fire was an accident." So not only did she get hold of a copy of a report he couldn't get, she had already read and analysed it.

It seemed the only thing the Head of Section D could do was repeat the statements spoken to him by his Senior Intelligence Analyst. He felt somewhat helpless. "Cotterdam, an accident?" _I sound like a bloody parrot._

"Exactly. And Maudsley's suicide the day the report comes out. It can't be a coincidence." Harry took the report from her across his desk. She was still sitting, he was still standing. Something had shifted here. He felt like he was on the carpet in the DG's office, not like he was her boss. But the facts were that Ruth had more information than he had, and right now he was deeply impressed with her. He had walked smugly into his office expecting to order her to go home again, and now he was asking for her analysis of the situation.

"What would be gained by Special Branch concealing the truth?" Harry leant over his desk and put his head close to hers.

"Depends what the truth is." She was absolutely right. And now Harry wanted to know what the truth was too. But first, as he was painfully aware of the numerous pairs of eyes that were gathering outside on the Grid, it really was time for him to get his chair back.

Harry stood up and simply looked at her. "Ruth, would you mind?" The look on his face was one of vague embarrassment, but he nodded toward her and raised his eyebrows, smiling. Harry pulled a chair closer to his desk and held it out for her. She didn't understand at first, but then she inhaled, smiled and shrugged, slightly abashed, and stood up as well.

"Right. Yes. Sorry. Your chair." As they passed each other by the side of the desk, she wriggled her fingers, touching his, and smiled broadly. Ruth whispered to him, "Felt good, though, Harry."

As he sat down, he concealed a smile by gazing down at his desk. "Looked good too, Ruth." Then he returned his eyes to hers, and he was wearing his Grid face. "But don't let it happen again." She could still hear the amusement in his voice, but she answered him in the most serious tone she could muster, with not a hint of a smile on her face.

"Absolutely, Harry. Inexcusable lapse of protocol. Your bed but not your chair. I'm clear now."

Harry turned quickly to look at his computer screen, and then bent to retrieve a file. Ruth noted with a smile that his shoulders seemed to be quivering just a bit. When he returned to eye level, Ruth could see that his eyes were dancing, and there was a twitch at the corners of his mouth. They needed to gain control of this situation, and they had a mutual moment of silence while they gathered themselves.

Harry was collected first. "All right. I think we'll do the debrief now, if that works for you. Considering how much more information you have than I do at this point, you are either a witch or a psychic. I need you to give me a report of everything you know about this before I go to the meeting at Whitehall in an hour."

Ruth smiled at him. "Not psychic, Harry, just a woman with contacts. People want to talk, really. You just have to give them a reason." She proceeded to tell him everything she'd learned this morning, including the fact that only seven men had died in the Cotterdam fire, and all seven happened to be members of the same terrorist group.

Harry shook his head. "And all the intelligence we would have gained, lost with them." Harry picked up the incident report. "Can you give me a short version of this?"

"Yes. It reads like it was written to sound plausible, but it's just too perfect. An accident, electrical. But an accident inside a secure unit that kills only seven of the country's most wanted men? They would have to have been rounded up somehow while all the others were evacuated. It just doesn't make any sense."

"What do you think it is, Ruth?"

"Might be something sinister, but could also be simply that no one wants this dragged through the press. Wouldn't look good."

Harry narrowed his eyes, thinking. "And you're certain Maudsley was there that night? You trust your source?"

Ruth nodded. "Completely."

Ruth had one more thing she need to get clear with him. "Harry, I still believe it was a drop."

Harry shook his head, but then seeing her eyes, said, "All right. Give the ten-pound note to Malcolm and ask him to … to … do whatever it is he does."

Ruth laughed softly. "You know, you really should _learn_ what it is your people do, Harry. There's a whole world of spookdom that is simply lost to you."

"Yes, Ruth, in my spare time, on the week-ends, which someone has been taking quite a lot of lately." His mouth was twitching again.

Ruth smiled, but she couldn't let it go. "You're just humouring me about the drop, Harry, I can feel it. You don't believe it, do you?"

"I have to admit it still sounds far-fetched to me." Ruth began to speak, but Harry stopped her. "Look, there's obviously _something_ going on here, and we'll find out what it is. I didn't see anything on the note, but let's wait to see what Malcolm has to say."

Harry put the Cotterdam report in his briefcase. "And log a report. Of your experience at the tube station, and what you've learned since. I'm going to ask some hard questions of Oliver Mace. I have a feeling if anyone knows what's really going on here, he will."

"You don't trust him, do you?" Ruth had never liked Oliver Mace. She wrinkled her nose as if she had smelled something unpleasant. "He has shifty eyes."

Harry said, "Not as far as I could throw him, and he's a heavy man." Harry was starting to push back from his desk. He smiled faintly at her. "And you're spot on about the eyes." Ruth stood and moved her chair back to the windows.

"Beyond the report and the note, Harry, what do you want me to do?" She turned to him, her face bright, ready for anything.

_A born spook_. Harry's eyes softened as he looked at her. The audience outside the glass be damned, he loved this woman. "You should continue to do what you've been doing. You are an extraordinarily talented analyst, and you have just given me exactly what I need to confront Oliver. I won't muzzle you, my Ruth. Do what you do best."

Ruth smiled at him. With her back to the Grid, she mouthed, "I love you, Harry." And to his discreet nod, she said, softly, "Yes, I know, you love me, too."

As he led her to the door, he said, "Completely."

* * *

Harry's meeting with the Joint Intelligence Committee was typically maddening. Oliver Mace had answered none of Harry's questions, and the Committee members refused to take their thumbs out long enough to give a vote of no confidence. It had accomplished one thing, though. Now Harry knew there was something they weren't being told.

He knew he had antagonised Mace, and he'd done it in front of the entire Committee. He was playing a dangerous game, but he knew Mace was hiding something. Oliver had said that Cotterdam was "unimportant." Harry thought Oliver was hiding something even bigger. Harry thought it might be _very_ important.

He walked back on the Grid determined that he would find out what really happened. "Adam, Cotterdam Prison. I want to go back over everything concerning the fire."

Adam followed him toward the meeting room. "I thought Special Branch was taking care of that."

"So did I. It appears they've done nothing more than write what they were told to. I think those terrorists were murdered and someone's protecting their killers." Harry saw Ruth now, and needed to talk with her. He was still speaking to Adam over his shoulder as he walked toward her, "We could be sleepwalking into vigilantism. Get everyone assembled."

This was bigger than Harry had thought, and Ruth's assessment of a cover up was entirely accurate. And now he wanted to get her as far away from the situation as possible. He hadn't decided yet whether it had been a drop, but if it had been, there were numerous reasons he wanted Ruth at a distance.

It had hit him hard as he drove back to the Grid. A proper debrief of Ruth would ask the question. Why was she at that particular tube station, miles from her own home and two blocks from Harry's? Although part of him wanted the world to know that he loved her, he didn't want them to find out like this. It was such a cliché, employer and employee, sordid affairs, and he knew it would destroy Ruth. Not to mention Oliver Mace smirking in the background and going on about the Head of MI5 and his weakness for his pretty Intelligence Analyst.

Harry despised the fact that this was on his mind right now. As he walked toward Ruth, his heart was so full he could have taken her arm, pulled her into his office and bloody married her then and there, just to let her, and the world, know how permanent he wanted this to be. And Harry resolved, in the short time it took to cross the space between them, that he would make this right. And soon.

As he drove, he had thought about not only the emotional danger, but the physical danger he transferred to anyone who loved him. If it was a drop, the only logical purpose for it would be to get information to Harry. And if that was the case, Maudsley had been watching them. It chilled Harry to the bone to think of Ruth coming into the circle that was always around him, the one painted with a target.

"Ruth, have you told anyone what you witnessed this morning?" He had to move her out of that circle for now. The rest he would sort out later.

"No."

"Or logged a report, as I asked?"

"Not yet." Harry saw Ruth's defiant look, the one that told him she hadn't done it because she didn't agree with his evaluation of the situation.

_Thank God. That's one thing I don't have to pull back_. "Good."

Now the defiant look was gone, and she turned to him, surprised. "What do you mean, good? I thought that ... "

"Anything back from the ten pound note?" Harry needed to find out if it really had been a drop.

Now Ruth was really interested. Maybe he did agree with her. "Malcolm's still looking at it, why?"

"Let's just call it an uncomfortable feeling." They were surrounded by people on the Grid. There was nothing more he could say to her right now, so he asked her to trust him, but he did it with his eyes. "Do nothing." He was telling her that no one else should know about her experience this morning, and her fine analyst's mind went to work on it. Why didn't he want anyone else to know?

And it came to her, just as it had come to him. Of course. _Oh, God, how awful that would be_. All of Ruth's nightmares at GCHQ came back to her in a rush, but multiplied over and over. She knew what an official debrief was, she knew how specific it became, no detail overlooked. What that would do to Harry, to his authority. What it would do to her. Ruth looked around at everyone on the Grid, and tried to imagine how she would feel if they all knew she had slept at Harry's house, in his bed, if they knew about the week-end in Bath. _Oh, God._

She watched Harry move toward Adam and was utterly grateful. She had been so consumed with Maudsley that she hadn't thought it through, but Harry had. Ruth's commitment to Maudsley was no less, but she realised she needed to be much more careful in what she did, and how she did it. _Do nothing_. That was no longer an option for Ruth, but _do something and let no one know_ was.

* * *

Oliver Mace was worried. Harry Pearce was getting entirely too close in his investigation of Cotterdam. Oliver had told him he needed to stop, but Harry was like a bloody dog with a bone. They really needed to rein him in and make him a true member of the team. Unfortunately, Pearce knew where most of the bodies were buried, and practically anything Oliver could hold over his head was minor compared to what Harry had in his arsenal.

Mace had tasked his best and most devious man, Baker, to come up with something, anything, they could use. And fast. So when he appeared at his door and said, "Sir, I believe I have something. Do you have a minute?" Oliver was only too happy to oblige.

CCTV. What would the intelligence services do without it? Mace squinted at the paused image of the man in the wool cap, standing next to the woman with the brown hair. "That's Maudsley, yes? And?" Baker moved a few frames forward and pointed at the woman. Mace leant in and looked. His eyebrows made a slow journey up, folding his forehead into sharp lines in the process. "Well, well, Ruth Evershed, I believe?" Baker nodded.

Mace leant back into his chair again. "That is an interesting piece of news."

Baker said, "There's more, sir."

Mace turned to him. "Do tell."

Baker put a map in front of Mace. He pointed to the tube station. Then he pointed two blocks up. "This is Harry Pearce's house." Then he moved his hand all the way to the edge of the map. "This is Ruth Evershed's house." He looked up at Mace. "Sir."

Baker didn't think he had ever seen Oliver Mace smile quite this way. A broad smile. He actually looked happy. He only said two words.

"Oh, Harry." And then he laughed.

* * *

**CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR**

* * *

Acts of Truth. Now the seven terrorists had a name. Bombs without warnings. Maximum fatalities. And Ruth thought again about how extraordinary this job was. She was aware, as Harry was, that even the terrorist's safety must be protected by a democracy, or the democracy can't stand.

Adam was finishing his briefing. "Someone knows why these men lost their lives, and hasn't come clean."

Harry sat, turning his pen in his hands. "And then there is Maudsley." Ruth looked over at Harry and caught his eye. It had the same warning in it. She looked down, and stayed quiet.

"He was in Cotterdam on the night of the fire, and threw himself under a train this morning." As Adam continued, Harry looked over at Ruth again. This time, she didn't meet his eyes.

Harry said, "If these seven men were murdered, Maudsley may be the only man who knew by who."

"We need to find out who visited the prison on the night of the fire." Adam assigned Ros and Zaf to go in, and the meeting ended with Harry telling them to be careful.

Ruth stayed behind, looking at her papers, and Harry noticed. He managed to be the last one out the door, but then turned back, pretending a phone call, as soon as the hallway was clear. The meeting room was easier, because it didn't face out on to the Grid. He closed his mobile and stood at the doorway, looking at her, and she saw the softness in his eyes that told her he was worried. "Ruth, are you okay? I know that was hard for you."

She looked up and smiled. "Not so hard, not once I figured out why you didn't want me to tell anyone, Harry." She looked down at her papers. "Thank you for that."

He walked over to her, wanting to hold her. He knew he couldn't, so he sat on the table next to her. At least it allowed him to touch her hand in such a way that they could pull apart if someone walked through the door. "We may still have to tell someone, Ruth. It may not be possible to keep this part of the secret."

She laced her fingers with his on the table. "I know." She gave him a small, sad smile. "I guess we're not such good spooks after all."

He shook his head. "We couldn't have known. But I have let down my guard, Ruth. And I haven't followed protocol. I was thinking about this on my way back from the JIC. You know, everyone else has to submit a form to me to socialise. You and I skipped that step, didn't we?"

Harry saw that wonderful frown of Ruth's, and it made him smile. He asked the question for her. "Who would I submit it to? Good question. Probably the DG, and I don't even want to think about it." Now he gave a low laugh. "I think if it were anyone, it would be Adam that would be my choice. So if it _was_ a drop … "

"Harry." Zaf looked in the briefing room, and Harry quickly took his hand away from Ruth's. They knew he couldn't have seen. What Zaf did see was the discomfort they both clearly felt at being discovered, and he started thinking he might make some money on his book after all.

Harry stood quickly, and Ruth began shuffling papers. Zaf smiled. _Don't need to be a spook to figure this one out_. "Harry, Ros and I just wanted to run a few questions by you before we head off to Cotterdam. That okay?"

Harry looked at Zaf and nodded. "Yes. Ten minutes. My office. Will that do?"

Zaf turned and started out the door. "Cool." Harry turned to Ruth, shaking his head and smiling. She smiled back. Another of those moments, as they were transported to Harry's kitchen table, Chinese, and the profound love between them. Ruth stood nervously, so torn. Each of them wanted nothing more than to be back at that table, in the uncomplicated simplicity of who they were together. But they couldn't. Ruth sighed. "We should go back, Harry."

He looked softly at her. It was always hard for him to see her in any kind of pain. He wondered again how he was to function. All of his steel disappeared when she was like this, but he was willing it back, for her sake as much as for his. He tried to keep his voice even, unemotional, but the now-familiar gentleness was there, "I know it's hard for you, Ruth, not to tell the truth about things. That's what I came back to tell you."

They walked out the door, and into the hall. Ruth risked one more brush of his hand, and even that small touch, the brief warmth of his palm on hers, moved up her arm and through her body. They were nearing the hall that would take them to the main room now, and she pushed the feeling away, forcing herself back into the present.

As they began to round the corner, she still had a question about what he'd started to say when Zaf had interrupted them. "So you agree with me now. About the drop?"

"No, I'm undecided, either way." Harry stopped walking and turned to face her. "If there was a drop and it was targeted at you, I don't want to leave an official trail until we know what it was." Definitely no official trail. Ruth agreed with that.

"Okay." But now she wanted to be clear what he had said about Adam. "Even Adam?"

"You can tell Adam." Harry thought now he might have confused her. He had meant to let her know that Adam would probably need to be taken into their confidence anyway, but he hadn't really had time to explain before Zaf came in.

"We don't have to." Ruth was a little confused, actually, and she was trying to understand what he meant.

"It's up to you." Harry knew how devastating it could be to an op when the team is not telling each other the truth. The reality was that Harry didn't know what to do in this situation. She was asking very specific questions, and he just didn't have any specific answers. "I'm not saying you should keep things from the other members of the team, I'm just saying ... "

"Don't tell anyone."

This was his lovely, infuriating, precious, exasperating Ruth. The Ruth who took cricket analogies to ridiculous conclusions. The one who looked for black and white where there was only grey. Now Harry wasn't even certain what he meant any longer. He only knew they needed more information and he couldn't give her a proper answer until they had it. "Yes. I mean, no ... "

Finally, Ruth said, "Not until we know what it is."

_Thank God_. "Exactly."

"Right."

Jo walked down the hall toward them. Earlier, Ruth had asked her to look into Maudsley's finances , and Jo now had an answer. "Ruth. Maudsley was being paid by someone. Six months ago he was bankrupt and since then he's had all his debts paid off. He died with a healthy bank balance."

Harry looked at Ruth just to confirm what he suspected. "No mention of it in the Special Branch report either?"

Ruth looked back at Harry. "No." This was the final piece. He was bribed. Special Branch was covering it up. Maudsley was firmly connected, and Harry and Ruth's position, their _privacy_, had just become infinitely more precarious.

Harry looked at Ruth and saw in her eyes what she was feeling. And as they had begun to do so often lately, they spoke with their thoughts. They could nearly hear them, as if they were spoken, communicated through the medium of their eyes.

What Ruth told Harry was, yes, they were important, but this was bigger, and that it was okay, even if everyone had to know about the two of them. It had gone beyond the secret now. They were a part of the fabric of each other's lives, woven together and stronger for it, and whatever was to come, they would find their way together. And as she spoke to him, she said, _I love you_.

What Harry said to Ruth was that he sometimes regretted that he wasn't just the banker, never more than this moment. That if this came out in the open, the days ahead might be difficult, but it wouldn't change anything. That he would make things right for them. And, just as Ruth did, he said, _I love you_.

"No." Jo was merely answering Harry's question, but she suddenly felt as if she had walked into the most intimate of conversations, and it was being conducted only with their eyes. For a moment, she couldn't turn away. It was as if they were the only two people in the world right now, and whatever language they were speaking was one she didn't know. Then, Jo felt suddenly like a voyeur, as if she should leave them to each other. "S-sorry … am I … ?"

"No." Ruth turned, and made her way back down the hallway.

"No." Harry looked up at Jo, his eyebrows raised in surprise, and walked past her and on to the Grid.

Jo turned to go back to her station. All she could think was, _If those two aren't in love, I need to bloody hang up my hat and go home_.

* * *

Baker sat across from Oliver Mace and watched him think. Mace's eyes tended to move back and forth, as if he were watching an invisible tennis match. When they stopped is when one needed to be on one's toes. That's when action was required. They stopped.

"So, Baker, what would you recommend?"

Baker shifted in his chair. "Sir, the obvious would be to leak the information somehow. Cause a scandal? Pearce might back off then?"

Mace's lips pursed into somewhat of a grimace. "No. Not enough. He would survive that. He's survived worse." He tapped the ash from his cigar and took a long draw, filling the room with blue smoke. Baker just barely managed to suppress a cough. Mace squinted through the smoke. "We need to cut him. Deeply. Get him to his knees."

"Perhaps he cares for her. Perhaps we can use that, sir? If we hurt her, we could hurt him."

Oliver looked at Baker. And he smiled again. "You're earning your keep today, Baker." He nodded toward the door. "Get on with it."

* * *

Ruth continued through the hallway and past the meeting room to Malcolm's station. She stood at the door and waved at him. "Hi."

Malcolm looked up. "Ah." He picked up the note and handed it to her. "Nothing on it. Sorry."

Ruth's heart fell. She frowned at him. "You sure?" She wasn't sure what to feel now. A part of her was glad it wasn't a drop, but the other part had so hoped this would be a clue to what Maudsley had wanted to tell her.

"I've scoured it, put it through a scanner. There's nothing at all, it's just an ordinary tenner." He sat back down at his computer.

"There's no other test you can run?" Ruth still stood in the doorway, holding up the note.

"Well, I could blow it up if you'd like, set light to it."

Ruth smiled just a little. "No, it's OK, thanks."

"I still don't understand how it links to our investigation." She could hear the tone in Malcolm's voice. He knew there was more going on here than she was telling him.

Ruth looked at him, and realised that Malcolm, and no one else, knew about them. Her first reaction to this realisation was a kind of shyness, an embarrassment, as an image of the intimacy of Havensworth came back to her. Malcolm knew. For a moment, she thought about telling him everything. Why she was having him test the note, what had happened, and why she was in that place at that time.

While she was having these thoughts, Malcolm was having his own. He almost said, _I know, Ruth. Let me help you. I can't help you unless you tell me what this is about_.

Neither of them did. And they didn't because they both loved Harry. In very different ways, of course, but loved him nonetheless. And they couldn't betray his trust by saying those things without him here. So there was an elephant in the room with them, but neither of them had decided to give it a name.

Ruth shook her head, and said, "Just routine."

Malcolm looked sceptical, and said, "Huh. Okay."

Ruth's mind was racing. If the note wouldn't give her what she needed, she would have to find another way. The only person who could tell her what she needed to know was Mik Maudsley, and he was dead. And then it came to her. He may be dead, but maybe he could still tell her.

Ruth was motionless in Malcolm's doorway. Finally, she spoke. "I need another favour from you, actually." Malcolm turned in his chair to face her. "Have you still got your contact at the mortuary?"

Malcolm turned back to his desk and scribbled on a piece of paper. He handed it to her. "I'll give him a call and let him know you're coming."

Ruth searched for the right words. "Malcolm, I need you to … to … "

Malcolm simply took his finger and crossed his heart, then brought the finger to his lips. Ruth smiled back at him, her eyes warm on his. "Thank you. I … we … appreciate it."

That small "we" was the only acknowledgement they needed to make. But it signified something so big.

* * *

Ruth pulled back the white sheet and felt her quick breakfast threatening to return. He looked like a man who had gone under a train. Her first instinct was to pull the sheet back up and go somewhere to be sick, but not only did this feel like the test of her desire to be a field agent, but she knew his eyes would still be in her mind, asking for her help. He wouldn't go away. She needed to be able to do this.

She looked at his face, the blood still caked where it had dried, his eyes no longer looking at her. She was back at the tube station, touching his back, hearing his voice. And now this was all that was left of him. She felt tears begin to sting at the back of her eyes, and she forced herself to focus. What had they taught her in training? Ruth ran through it in her mind.

The hands first. She pulled his hand from under the sheet and inspected it. Under the fingernails, places where things could be hidden. She looked behind his ears, inside the mouth. Ruth saw a movement, and Maudsley's arm suddenly fell from his chest where she had left it, down to the table. She let out a small, soft cry and placed it back under the sheet.

His clothes. Perhaps something in there. She reached under his feet to the plastic bag on the shelf of the cart, looking through it. Finally, she just emptied it all on to his legs, spreading out the blood-soaked jacket, torn and smelling of the oil from the tracks.

"What were you trying to tell me?" she asked him aloud, desperately wishing he could simply sit up and say it. Ruth felt helpless, blind. She went through his pockets, and felt metal. His keys. She put them in the pocket of her coat.

Ruth put everything back into the bag and stuffed it onto the shelf. She took off the latex gloves and threw them in the bin. For a moment, she stood and calmed herself. She took several deep breaths and just laid her hand on his leg, feeling the coldness under the sheet. The unnatural coldness. This body wasn't still alive, but she felt him so strongly in the room. She closed her eyes and said softly, out loud, "Help me. Please. Tell me where to go."

Her other hand went to the pocket of her coat and felt the cold metal. Now she had cold beneath both hands, and she knew what to do. The keys to his house. He was still giving her clues.


	9. Chapter 9

**CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE**

* * *

Harry closed the file on his desk. Thank God, the case was closed as well. The arsonist was Zakir Abdul, a member of Acts of Truth. Maudsley had let him into the prison that night, and Abdul set the fire specifically to kill his own men so they couldn't be interrogated. Maudsley committed suicide out of guilt.

Special Branch had covered it up because they didn't want anyone to know a senior prison official was assisting terrorists. It would look bad in the press. Abdul was found dead of a shot to the head, probably Acts of Truth, closing the circle.

Neat and clean. Ends tied up. The old spook, the one deep inside Harry, was narrowing his eyes in suspicion of the neatness. The spook that sat here at his desk was grateful. After the weekend at Bath with Ruth, he realised he was somewhat off his game. Like the feeling after too many scotches, his sharp edges were gone. He felt soft, and slightly disoriented.

All he knew right now is that he wanted to go back to peering out of his office and seeing Ruth at her station, parsing some Greek poem for clues, her smile uncomplicated. Ever since he picked her up this morning after her experience at the tube station, she had been different, driven somehow, and he hadn't quite been able to penetrate _her_ armour. There was something going on with Ruth that he couldn't seem to touch. He felt a distance between them, and he wanted so much to bridge it.

Harry suddenly felt sorry for Jane. If this is what it felt like to love an impenetrable spook, he understood the screaming, the arguments, the crying, for he knew he had been much worse, and over a much longer period of time. Ruth was only distracted, and Harry was looking forward to the dinner she promised him, at her house, after which he could hold her and fall asleep with her in his arms.

He'd wanted this Maudsley business to be over. And now it was. Harry had just hung up the phone from his final report from Adam when Ruth came in.

She stood at the door, and her voice was soft. Harry thought she sounded so tired. "I know you're going to say I'm crazy. And … uh … I don't know, maybe, maybe I am. But I just don't think any of it makes sense." Ruth knew he was not going to like this. She knew Harry was ready to let it go. Ready to have _her_ let it go.

Harry looked up from his file. "What?"

"Maudsley."

"Ruth." Harry sounded tired now.

"No, just hear me out. The way he looked." She felt this so strongly, she simply couldn't let it go. "He wasn't a guilty man."

"Ruth, you saw him for a split second. You couldn't possibly ... " She could hear that Harry was losing patience with her. Truth was, she was losing patience with herself, but Maudsley wouldn't leave her. She had listened to the tied-up ends, and he was still there in her head, trying to tell her something. She had come back from the mortuary with his keys still in the pocket of her coat, and she'd taken them out and looked at them ten times already, as if they would suddenly stand up and speak to her.

"I know, I know. Rationally I know that but ... "

"Ruth! Listen, you can relax." Harry rose and walked over to her. "Maudsley was the man on the inside. Forensics have found DNA evidence which proves he visited Zakir Abdul at the warehouse." Harry was speaking more softly now, as if to a child, trying to calm her. Ruth felt she was conveying fragility again, which was the last thing she wanted to do.

Harry continued, gently. "There was no drop. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time, yes?" Ruth nodded, trying to believe what he was telling her. Really, it would be so much easier.

Harry walked over to get his coat from the rack. "I don't want you to get fixated on this."

"Fixated?" Ruth frowned. _Wonderful. Now not only fragile, but he thinks I'm daft as well._

He put his coat down and walked back to her. "Well, no, not fixated, sorry, that's the wrong word," Harry was back-pedalling furiously. He decided to just come to the point. "But I'm worried about you."

Ruth snapped at him. "I'm fine." She knew she was far from fine, but this thing had taken hold of her, and she couldn't shake it. She wanted so much to just let go, to let him comfort her, but she knew she still had more to do.

As she looked at Harry, she could see the worry she was causing him. He had spent the day essentially trying to rein her in, except for the one time he said _Do what you do best_. What she realised now is that she would need to do this without his blessing. It was nearly five o'clock. She would go to Maudsley's house and see what she could find. And whatever she found would lead her where she needed to go. She was sure of it.

But that couldn't include a dinner and a long night with Harry. Ruth told herself there would be plenty of nights with Harry, but only one window of opportunity for this. Maudsley's house would be crawling with Special Branch tomorrow, and she needed to get there before that happened. Tonight.

She had come in to tell Harry she wanted to go to Maudsley's, but now Ruth realised that wasn't a good idea. He would try to talk her out of it, and he would succeed. Harry didn't have the voice in his head. He didn't hear the sound of the train as it ran over his body. She would tell him later.

Hadn't he said there would be times when he would need to lie to her? That the work would make it necessary? Their promise to understand had to go both ways, and he would understand. Later.

Ruth looked up and saw her Harry. His voice was sweet, gentle, and full of love. "You look exhausted."

"Oh, Harry, I'm ... " She stopped and looked at him. What she was going to say was that she was fine again, but she couldn't stomach saying it a second time. She wasn't fine, and she couldn't explain why, not even to Harry. Not yet.

"Let me give you a lift home." Ruth knew that was not a good idea. If he did, how would she say no to dinner? He would want to come inside, and then she wouldn't let him go, she knew it_. _"No, I'm going to go on the tube."

Now Harry had enough, and it popped out of his mouth before he could stop it. "Don't be such a stubborn old mule." He regretted it the moment it left his lips, except that he saw some of the fire come back into her eyes. For that, he was grateful.

She smiled at him for the first time since she had walked into his office, and he saw a glimpse of his Ruth. "Mule?"

"Well, I don't mean mule, it's a phrase.."

Now she laughed. "Oh, Harry. 'Fixated?' 'Mule?' Would you like a shovel? To dig a little deeper?" The laughter took some of the tension out of her, and she leant against the wall next to the door, putting her head in her hands. "This has been a very long day, Harry." She looked up at him, her eyes gentle. "For you, too, I know."

"You saw something very disturbing this morning." He shook his head. "I should have driven you to work. None of this would have happened if I'd just driven you."

"Maudsley would still be dead, wouldn't he?"

"Yes, but you wouldn't have seen it, my Ruth." Harry's eyes were the deepest brown, with just a hint of moisture. Ruth saw the love there. He turned away for a moment, and she wondered if it was to hide from the Grid outside the windows, or to hide from her.

She was still up against the wall, enjoying the fact that no one could see her. But she wanted to reach out and put her arms around him. "You can't possibly think any of this is your fault, Harry."

Harry sighed and walked back toward her. "No, but it would be nice to have some peace, Ruth. Just a little peace to be together. We had it in Bath, and now I want more. Can you imagine that it was just yesterday morning that we woke up there?" He moved closer to her.

He knew that Ruth wasn't visible against the wall, although he could see Jo out on the Grid, so he knew he was, just slightly. He moved a bit closer, until he could just touch her. He laid his hand on her necklace, as he had wanted to earlier in her kitchen. He found the charms with his fingers and held them there.

Ruth put her hand up and laid it across his. She closed her eyes and leant her head back on the wall. "Will anything seem real again? When we were there, this didn't seem real. And, now, Bath seems like a dream."

Harry wanted to kiss her. He looked past Ruth to the open door on the left, and the windows on the right. "You know, sometimes this office feels like a damned fishbowl. And I'm the bloody fish swimming around in it." He could see that Jo was looking directly at him, although she immediately averted her eyes. "I very badly need to hold you right now. Or at least understand what it is you're going through. Please let me take you home, Ruth."

Ruth thought, _Can't I just let it go? Just forget what I saw, and tell the voice in my head to go away? _She squeezed Harry's hand on her shoulder, and much as she wanted to she knew she couldn't. Her voice was soft, and she looked at Harry with the whole of the love she was feeling right now, which was enormous. "I love you Harry."

He tilted his head, and his eyes went soft too. "Ummm, feels good to hear you say that. I've been feeling like you were just out of reach all day. But it's like you came back in the last few minutes." He laughed quietly, "Actually, ever since I called you a mule."

She smiled back at him. "It's because I am a mule, Harry. Stubborn as they come. And yes, I have been away a bit. I've tried to explain it, but haven't done a very good job of it, I think." Neither of them moved, because they were now somewhat out of sight. Harry wanted her to talk, and Ruth needed to, so they stood between the windows and the door at arm's length.

"I'll try one more time, Harry. When I left the tube station, I felt as if I took Maudsley with me. At the time it felt like he … he … transferred something to me, some essence of himself. Bizarre, I know, but it's stayed with me, like a ghost. Everyone seems to be thrilled with the outcome of the work we've done today, but he's not, Harry."

Harry sighed, and his forehead creased into a frown. "I know how it feels to have a responsibility to the dead, Ruth. I've felt it before." His fingers played absentmindedly with the charms at her neck, where his hand still lay. "But you can't bring him back." Harry's voice grew quieter. "We can never bring them back."

"I know that." Ruth looked down, feeling suddenly as exhausted as she looked. She needed to get on with this, and get it over with. Then she would lay in his arms and let him comfort her. "I need you to trust me, Harry. And I need some time to be alone with this. Can you understand that?" She looked up into his eyes, and Harry saw so much longing there.

She was asking for space, something he had asked for so many times from Jane. And now he knew how hard it was to give when you truly loved someone and saw them troubled. Harry sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, he said, "Yes. I understand. And I'll give you whatever time you need." He let his hand fall from her shoulder, and took the hand by her side in his. "I'll take a rain check on dinner and your bed, but I will take you home, Ruth. In return for your space, I need a long kiss. Non-negotiable terms."

She squeezed his hand. "Accepted, Harry. Now take your mule home."

* * *

Out on the Grid, Jo walked past Harry's office holding some files. They hadn't been visible for some time, but now Harry was switching off his computer and turning out lights. Ruth stood by the door. After what she had seen in the hallway today, Jo assumed they had made up whatever tiff they'd had after their dinner together.

Watching them, Jo spoke to Ros. "God, those two. One minute it's on, the next it's all off again."

Ros didn't even look up from her computer. She didn't give a damn what little intrigues Harry Pearce had going on in his spare time. He could go to bloody hell for all she cared. "I hadn't noticed."

Jo looked down on Ros' desk. Some of the tracking devices from Havensworth were still there. She picked one up. "This tracker should tell us. If it's straight home for Ruth then maybe not, but if it's out for a Chinese or a curry, then maybe." Jo walked around to Ruth's coat that was laid across the desk next to Ros'.

Ros was unmoved. She had her reports to log from the day's work, and would probably be here for another hour or two. She could care less about Harry's curry. "I'm really not interested."

Jo looked back at Ros. "Come on, there's not much else to smile about." She tucked the tracker into Ruth's coat pocket. "Ask Zaf. He's running a book." Jo walked away as Harry and Ruth came out of Harry's office.

Ros watched, unblinking, while Ruth collected up her coat, looking actually quite like a woman with a secret, Ros thought, nervous and skittish. And now that she looked at Harry, even he was just a little too studied, his chin held high, with the desire to look too normal, which usually reduced people to ridiculous abnormality. So there was something going on, that was clear.

Ruth stepped into the pod, and instead of taking another one, Harry stepped in with her. Face to face, crammed in a pod, trying to look normal. Bloody hell, Ros thought, they're like a couple of adolescents. Ros remembered her attack on Harry just four days ago. _The fact that your own existence is a walking disaster zone does not give you the right to make judgments on other people's. _

Still a disaster zone, Ros thought, just in a different geographical area. She smiled, filing the information away for later.

* * *

Harry and Ruth got out of the lift at the garage level of Thames House, knowing that there were cameras everywhere. Each had the same thought at the same time, although they didn't share it verbally. The cameras that made it possible so often for them to do their jobs now formed a grid of their own, a kind of prison for them. In sight lines, outside of sight lines, always aware of being watched, both calculated where it was safe for a touch or a look, even a kiss.

Harry made his final calculation, and he suddenly pulled Ruth with him behind one of the cement columns, into an area that was nearly black in its darkness. He pressed her against the column and kissed her, his breath coming fast in warm waves across her cheek. They were both back in the alcove in Henley-on-Thames, sharing a forbidden, secret moment.

It seemed an age to him since he'd last felt her lips under his, the softness, the warmth of them. How sweet she tasted, and how she responded to him. He needed to know that nothing had changed, and he knew this is where he would feel it, that this would reassure him that she was still his, no matter what had happened to her. It did. As his hands roamed from her face to her neck, to just lower, he knew that they were the same two people who had made love in Bath. The same two people who had shared their secrets, the ones they'd never shared with anyone else.

Harry pulled away gently and did the thing he'd been longing to do all day. He moved down to her neck and tenderly kissed the charms. Those tiny symbols of all they were to each other, warm from their proximity to her lovely skin, and he spoke the words that went with the kiss, "I love you, Ruth."

Ruth was floating, for the first time since early this morning knowing fully the peace that came with his love. She could let go into it, lose herself, and forget. And for just a few minutes, while she stood here in the dark with Harry, she couldn't hear the voice, as if it was giving her time with him, time to regenerate before doing what she had to do tonight.

And Ruth thought, this is my home, here in his arms. There was no place she would rather be, no place as warm, or safe. She sighed as he kissed her neck, and she knew that he was drawn to the charms, as if he was infusing them with his love, and that it would stay there on them, even when his lips were not. She heard him say the words, and she repeated them to him. "Oh, Harry, I love you too." She whispered it so it couldn't be heard beyond their ears, for now still their secret, no matter what tomorrow would bring.

* * *

Ruth paused for just a moment at her front door, waiting until Harry drove away. Now she was alone. Completely alone and on her own. She wondered how he would feel if he knew she had turned around and gotten in her own car and driven away on an opposite path from his. She thought if someone told him that, he wouldn't believe it of her. Wouldn't believe that she would so calmly lie to him.

He had offered to come in, make her sweet tea again, this time finishing it and sharing it with her. When she said no, he said, then at least let me come and say goodnight properly. "No, you've already done that, Harry," she said, smiling, reminding him of their kiss at the garage. Ruth told him she would take a bath and then crawl into bed, but she would call him before she went to sleep, just to say "I love you."

He called her a wicked girl again, bringing up the picture of her in the bath, and they'd laughed and remembered their afternoon together, with her sopping up the bathroom floor while the porter wondered about the madwoman in the other room.

She had looked at Harry then, and she thought for a moment he knew that she was lying to him, that he had entered her mind just by opening a door and walking into it. And that he was letting her lie to him, making it easier for her somehow, by not asking again.

He had given her a melancholy, trusting look, and set her free. And her heart ached with it now as she remembered, driving to Mik Maudsley's house.

* * *

**CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX**

* * *

"No date, then."

Ros looked at her watch. Almost 6:00. She was finishing up the first of her reports when she saw the trackers stop. Harry's green one moved away from Ruth's red, and Ros smiled back at her report. _Nothing sordid here. Pity._

But after a moment, another beep brought Ros' eyes back to the screen. Ruth was moving now, and at first Ros thought she might be following Harry, but she veered off.

"I thought you said you were going home?" Ros watched it until it stopped, and typed in the code that asked for the location.

"Maudsley's house? What the hell are you up to, Ruth?"

All of Ros' internal alarms were going off now. This was not a part of the op, and in fact, wasn't the op over now? They had wrapped it up late in the day. So why on Earth would Ruth be going to Maudsley's house? Ros knew that everyone thought Ruth was so bloody wonderful, in her clumsy, simple way. But Ros had heard the edge in her voice that no one else seemed to notice. Ros didn't trust her, and now it looked to be with good reason.

No time like the present to find out, once and for all. Ros made her way quickly to the pods and down to her car. She would need a witness, and who better than Zaf, who thought Ruth walked on water. He'd spent the morning singing her praises as they drove to Cotterdam, until Ros had nearly wanted to be sick.

She pressed his number into her mobile as she drove. "Zaf, meet me at Mik Maudsley's house."

Twenty minutes later, Zaf came up behind Ros just as Ruth was closing the front door and walking away in the other direction. He didn't know what Ruth was doing, but he was sure there would be a reasonable explanation. And he knew one thing, he wanted to follow protocol. After seeing Ruth and Harry in the meeting room today, he knew exactly what he and Ros should do.

"Phone Harry." Zaf caught up with Ros as she walked toward the front door.

"You must be joking. She's his rose-tinted blind spot."

Zaf switched gears. "Adam then." They should not be doing this on their own.

They were still walking toward Maudsley's house. "Sure," Ros said, "when we find out what she's doing here."

Zaf was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. "Look, I don't like spying on Ruth."

"So don't." Ros hadn't even broken stride. She'd already accomplished what she wanted with Zaf, she'd made him suspicious. But Zaf could see that there was something else going on here. Ros was on some sort of mission, and it didn't seem to be in Ruth's best interest. Now Zaf found he was wanting to follow Ros in order to protect Ruth.

Ros picked her way through the front door lock with alarming ease. Zaf followed her, but declined to participate in the search she made. Finally, she bent down to look in a cupboard and found what she was looking for. A Chinese type 67 gun. A rather rare gun. Which also happened to be the gun that shot Abdul.

She held it up for Zaf to see. Zaf was trying to get his mind around what she was showing him, but it was very clear that Ros thought Ruth had put the gun there. "You're jumping to conclusions."

Ros stood up. "What conclusions? I've said nothing." She faced Zaf. "What's she doing here? At Maudsley's house? And if this is part of the team's operation, how come we don't know anything about it?" Ros walked past him, starting for the door.

Zaf followed her. "Ros." She stopped and turned as he moved past her on the stairs. "We need to find Ruth and ask her. I know there's a good explanation for this." Ros looked at him, shaking her head with a low, nasty laugh. Zaf continued, "Come on, Ros. You know Ruth."

Ros narrowed her eyes at him. "No, actually, I don't. And I don't think any of you do either. I'll do what I have to do, Zaf. You can follow her if you'd like." She turned on her heel and walked out of Maudsley's front door. Zaf watched her turn right toward her car. Zaf turned left and went to find Ruth.

* * *

Ruth thought she had found what she was looking for. When she'd first seen it, she felt the rightness of it. Maudsley had handed her a ten pound note, and here was a scribbled reminder: _Pay fruit and veg stall_. And the amount? Ten pounds. She didn't know exactly what it meant, but when she pulled it down and put it in her purse, she'd heard some quiet in her head for a blessed moment.

So she simply started walking and hoped to be led to it. She'd wandered just a bit, but now she saw it across the street, a fruit and vegetable stall, and a man with a wool cap. She still had the ten pound note in her wallet, the one Maudsley had given her.

"Hi, just the apple please." She handed the note to the man, giving him a clear look from under her lashes. "Sorry, I've only got a tenner."

He didn't hand her an apple, didn't even reach toward the apples. He looked back at her with the same clear look and reached around behind the apples to pull out a newspaper. Folded in the newspaper was an envelope. And in the envelope Ruth's experienced hands felt a computer disk.

"Thanks very much." She looked at the envelope as if it was a king's ransom she held. She couldn't begin to express her gratitude for the wonderful man in the wool cap, for the brilliant voice in her head, for her own mulish stubbornness. It was real. It had all been real. There was a drop. She hadn't lost her mind.

But there was something that Ruth hadn't noticed. The white van across the street. The same white van with the two men in it that was outside her house when Harry dropped her off. The same white van that had been outside Maudsley's house earlier, before there was a Chinese type 67 or a fruit and veg stall note inside the house. She hadn't noticed that the man in the passenger seat wore the coat, tie and regulation white shirt of Special Branch. And she couldn't know that his name was Baker.

And right now, she didn't know that he was talking on his mobile to Oliver Mace. And that Oliver Mace was currently on his way to the Grid to meet Harry and Adam and the rest of the team. Oliver had the feeling it was Christmas, actually, because he'd been given a gift. A phone call from Ros Myers that fit perfectly into the plan that was already in place.

Ruth started walking, making her way back to the Grid to put the disk in her computer and call Harry. To tell him that she was sorry, so sorry, but she'd had to do this on her own. But that she was right, she'd been right all along about the drop. And yes, they could have that dinner tonight. And yes, she would love to sleep in his arms if he'd still have her.

Suddenly, she felt hands on her from behind. She spun around, directly into Zaf.

"Ruth! What the hell is going on?"

"Oh, thank God it's you." He had really scared her, and that made Zaf even more nervous.

"Why are you acting like that?"

Ruth kept walking, out of breath, "I will tell you, but let's get back to Thames House. I'll tell you there."

* * *

When they stepped through the pods, Ruth had a moment of exhilaration, just for a split second. _Oh, good, everyone's here. I can tell them all at once about the drop, and we can find out what's on the disk together. _But then the moment fractured as she saw the two men in front of her. Oliver Mace. _That can't ever be good, can it?_

And Harry. Ruth noticed that he wore a different tie. _He went home, after I lied to him, and came back again. And he's not wearing the tie I picked out for him this morning._ She couldn't make sense of why the tie was so important to her, but it felt somehow connected to the betrayal she was feeling about having lied to him.

And Harry's face. It was the face he saved only for the gravest of situations. The one that looked to the outside world as if it were absolutely open and passive, unreadable, mildly concerned. Ruth knew it was fashioned of stone, meant to conceal all the seething anger and pain that lurked just below the surface.

And although Ruth suddenly feared greatly for her own safety, she almost feared more for Harry as she looked at him. For what he must be feeling right now. Because from his eyes, those eyes that could tell her anything, she could see that this was exceedingly bad. Whatever this was.

And what struck Ruth, what frightened her the most, was that Harry's face was very like the one she had seen him wear during Zoe's trial. It was an understatement to say that Harry was not comfortable with helplessness. He liked to believe that right could be done in the end, and Ruth had watched during the trial as Harry felt himself losing Zoe, little by little, to something he couldn't stop.

If Harry's look was any indication, Ruth thought she must be in a great deal of trouble. Right now, he would have told her that she was reading him perfectly. Every feeling in him was reaching out to her, whilst he was bound to simply stand there and let events unfold.

In fact, Harry was fighting an almost uncontrollable urge to calmly take her arm, go through the pods, and start driving. Somewhere, anywhere, it didn't matter. The gut feeling from earlier in the day was now coursing throughout his entire body.

Harry had thought about going round the corner after he had dropped her home earlier, and just waiting. He had felt it, had known she was going somewhere. Instead, he'd given himself an uncompromising lecture about trust, taken himself home, and poured a scotch. He'd gotten three-quarters through the glass before Oliver had rung him. "We'll need you back on the Grid, Harry. I'm afraid we have a traitor in our midst."

"Quickly, Harry." Oliver had hung up, and Harry knew. He'd heard it in Oliver's voice, a taunting, foul sound, almost pornographic, and Harry knew that somehow Oliver had learned about them. Oliver's tone had an eagerness, as if he were on his way to a particularly awaited sporting event. It was the superior, knowing tone used when discussing blackmail.

So, as Harry looked at Ruth, her sweet, downturned mouth so solemn, her eyes glistening, her face a distressing combination of openness and fear, he knew that whatever happened in the next minutes here would only be a performance. Oliver would be the star, and Ruth the lamb being led to slaughter. But this would all just be for show. The real negotiations would happen later, probably in Harry's office, or perhaps at Mace's club. Mace wanted Harry to do something, and Harry had a good idea what it was.

Right now, in the agony of looking at Ruth's gentle, beloved, terrified face, Harry thought he would give Oliver whatever he wanted. Whatever it took to turn her serious, somber mouth back to the one that teased and laughed and kissed him. But the worst of it was, as Harry looked at Ruth with his heart aching, he saw that she now stood well within his circle, the one painted with the target.

Ruth looked at Mace, and then back at Harry. She knew, down through her skin, that this was another of those defining moments. That she would count this minute as the end of one thing and the beginning of another for the rest of her life.

"Is there a problem?" She asked the question of Harry, but he didn't answer. It was Mace who answered.

"Yes, Ruth, I think there is." Why was Harry standing there so quietly? Why wasn't he looking at her and saying sternly, _Ruth. A word. My office. _She would be so grateful to hear that right now, to have him tell her she had done something wrong but then let her go back to her station to think it over.

"What's going on?" Her voice was coming from somewhere, but Ruth felt strangely detached. As if she were watching from a distance.

Mace spoke again. "We need to talk to you, Ruth." She looked at Harry, and wondered again why he hadn't said anything. His mouth was set, firm. That mouth that had just been so soft, the mouth she had just kissed behind the cement column, those lips that had just said _I love you_ into the charms on her neck. She didn't want to talk to Mace anymore. Ruth only wanted to talk to Harry. She stepped down from the pods and walked toward him.

"Do I … uh … do I need to sit down, Harry?"

"It's going to be all right, Ruth." He moved slightly toward her, and now she could see it. A twitch, just a tiny one in his cheek. As if he might actually combust right before her. The twitch conveyed his anger, but his eyes conveyed the love. And the message he sent was,_ Together, always together. We will get through this._ And Ruth felt herself grow a bit stronger.

"Let's go into Harry's office." Mace used the tone that made her skin crawl, the one that he probably thought sounded caring, or thoughtful, but in fact had a sort of poison dripping from it.

"No, no, whatever it is, let's just do it here." Ruth didn't want to be separated from the team. She looked around, at Malcolm's and Jo's eyes, and she felt their support . Adam's back was toward her, his jaw set like iron, with all of his anger pointed directly at Mace. But Ros, now she was a different story. Her eyes held pure hatred. All Ruth could think was, _What have I done to you, that you hate me so much?_ She looked back at Harry.

"Are you sure?" Harry's voice was soft, controlled, but Ruth could see that the twitch was still there. Just at the end of his question, Harry tilted his head toward her, by a fraction of an inch, almost unnoticeable. But she saw it, and she felt it. "Yes." Ruth answered Harry's question, but then she looked at Mace. She tensed for the onslaught, and it came immediately.

Mace turned to look at Ros, and then turned back to Ruth. "What were you doing at Maudsley's house?"

_Ah, so I was seen, and from the look that just passed between them, I will assume it was by Ros_. Ruth paused and then answered. "Nothing, I mean, I was ... "

"You don't deny you went there?"

"No."

"Authorised?"

Ruth looked directly at Harry, and then back to Mace. "No."

"Luckily, you were reported. At the Maudsley house, a Chinese type 67 was found. The same one that killed Mr. Abdul. Do you know anything about it?"

_A gun? What was this about?_ "No." Ruth was starting to feel real fear creep down her neck. Harry stood just to her right, and she could feel his anger mounting, even from where she stood. Harry turned to Mace, and spoke in a tone that let everyone know how ridiculous he thought this line of questioning was. "Of course she doesn't. This is insane."

Mace ignored Harry, and looked back at Ruth. "As you know, Maudsley was under suspicion of colluding with terrorists."

"I didn't believe that." Ruth's voice was starting to shake, and sounded very timid to her, but she was still drawing strength from Harry. In fact, she thought Harry might be the only reason she was still on her feet.

"Whether you believed it or not is immaterial. You were at his house. You went to the mortuary to search his body. You were behind him when he committed suicide. None of these events have been logged or officially trailed." Mace's voice was rising in volume, his accusations increasing in their intensity. Ruth felt she actually was on the stand in a trial. She felt panic beginning to take hold of her.

Harry stepped in again, trying to stem the tide of accusations. "She was following my orders." Ruth could hear some of Harry's anger moving toward the surface.

Ruth tried to explain. "I thought he was making a drop."

Now the final accusation, as Mace's voice rose dramatically. "You were working with him." Mace seemed to be enjoying this immensely.

Harry couldn't listen to this anymore. "_That_ is ridiculous." He looked at Mace, incredulous.

Again, Mace ignored Harry. "And the two of you together were working for Acts of Truth. When Maudsley died, you went to his house to destroy the evidence."

Ruth shook her head, and looked at Harry, and then back at Mace. "That is not true, there was a drop."

"Ruth." Now Harry's voice held a warning.

"I found it." Harry looked over at her, surprised.

Mace raised his eyebrows. "So where is it?"

She pulled out the envelope from inside the folded paper. Harry turned and looked at Mace, a challenge in his eyes.

Mace said, "OK, let's see it." Harry took the envelope from Ruth and handed it to Malcolm.

While Malcolm opened it, Harry sought out Ruth's eyes. She looked back at him with a half-smile, hoping whatever was on the disk would make this all go away. Harry, unfortunately, knew that Mace had an entirely different goal in mind. Enjoying his own theatricality just a bit too much, Mace said, "Let's see where this takes us."

The disk wasn't opening. Adam looked at Malcolm. "Is there a problem?"

"I'm not sure." Malcolm tried again.

Harry asked now. "Malcolm?"

Malcolm spoke. "It's blank."

Everyone had been looking at Malcolm while he tried to open the disk, but Adam was watching Oliver, whose eyes never left Harry. Oliver Mace didn't need to hear that the disk was blank, because he already knew it had nothing on it. Adam realised that Mace was watching Harry's reaction for the sheer sadistic pleasure of it.

"What?" Ruth was starting to get a sick feeling in her stomach.

Harry narrowed his eyes at Malcolm. "Are you sure?"

Malcolm looked directly at Ruth. "Sorry, Ruth, there's nothing on it."

Oliver Mace felt as if he were watching a marvellous play unfold before him. One he, himself, had written. The hero and heroine, destined to be separated. And he, the protagonist, has his day. Oliver was having an exceptionally good time. "There was no drop, Ruth. You and Maudsley were working for Acts of Truth. Things got out of hand, you pushed him."

"That's not true." Ruth's heart was hammering in her chest. _So it's to be murder then, is it? Prison? _

Mace went to his briefcase and pulled out a disk. And then he did something so obvious that Harry thought Oliver must be quite beside himself. Instead of apologising to Ruth, whose fate he was currently sealing, he turned to Harry. And in a tone that completely negated the statement, he looked directly at him and said, "Sorry, Harry."

Ruth and Harry were only inches away from each other. Harry gazed forward, over the top of her head, and into the space beyond. Ruth looked down, her eyes unfocused, glazed. Both were in a sort of shock. They were seeing their future changing, its shape moving from something beautiful into something grotesque. Time stopped for a moment, and Harry could only think that if he just moved forward slightly, she would be in his arms.

But now Oliver was showing them the CCTV of Ruth at the tube station. The thing they had tried so hard to keep secret. For a moment, Harry thought that Oliver was going to tell it all, and Harry wondered how the team would react.

Ruth watched herself on the screen, at the ticket machine this morning. _This morning? No, years ago, wasn't it? _She was suddenly dreadfully tired as she watched herself run after the man in the wool cap. She'd only wanted to give him his change. It wasn't fair for her to come out ahead on the trade, was it? Oliver Mace was still talking, and Ruth wanted so much for him to stop. "You met Maudsley, followed him to the platform, and pushed him."

And there on the screen, the evidence. That Ruth reached out to get his attention, which she did. Ruth squeezed her hands together now, because she could still feel Maudsley's back on her fingers, as if it were happening now. But then, a gloved hand just like hers, pushing Maudsley on to the tracks. Zaf couldn't take it any longer. "That's been tampered with. It's a fake."

Mace looked at him. He made a sneer out of Zaf's name. "Please … _Zaf_? Let's not make this any more upsetting than it already is."

Harry hadn't taken his eyes off of Ruth through it all. He saw her faltering, and he was willing his strength into her body. He had never known a more tortuous feeling than the one he was having now, to have her so close to him, in such terrible pain, and he was unable to even give her the comfort of a touch, or a word.

Now Ruth looked up at him, and in her eyes was the question he knew would come. _Does he?_ With his eyes, which were inexpressibly sad, he gave her the answer. _Yes, I think he knows_. And suddenly everything was very clear to Ruth. Mace knew they loved each other, and he was using her to get to Harry. She didn't know how much time she had now, or what would happen next, so she took the opportunity to tell him wordlessly, _I love you, Harry. I'll always love you._ And again, he said, love and anger blending into an electricity she could feel between them, _I love you, Ruth, and I will make this right_.

Mace's voice cut through Ruth's thoughts. He was looking at her, challenging her. "We have witnesses saying they saw you push him."

"What witnesses?"

"You were seen, Ruth. Apart from the CCTV you were seen." And in her mind, Ruth saw the woman. The blonde woman who was screaming with the sound of the sirens and the screech of the brakes. The woman who had never looked at her, had only looked at the train as it went past her.

A woman who probably now had a new car, or a good school for her children, or the same healthy bank account as Mik Maudsley when he went under that train.

* * *

There was a man pulling her now, his arm firmly on hers. And then there was Harry, standing in front of her as she walked by, his eyes so empty, his voice strong , "I will sort this out. I promise, Ruth. I will sort this out."

"Harry, I've seen it before too many times." Ruth remembered Zoe most of all in this moment. The trapped animal look she had as she stood on the stand in the courtroom. At the time, Ruth had thought how ungrateful the world was. How many times had Zoe saved countless lives, and no one hadn't known? Zoe had escaped prison, but she had lost the job she loved. Ruth knew now that it was her turn in the box, and she despaired of anything Harry could do to prevent it. "We've done it to too many people."

Harry was beside her now, walking with her to the pods. He reached out to touch her, one more time, to feel the warmth of her hand. He was nearly there, his hand just millimetres from touching her skin, when he was pulled back by a man behind him.

"Sir, will you move?" And she was gone, too far away, into the pods.

Harry turned on the man, his rage unable to be contained. "Do _not_ address me!" Harry's body shook with it, and he felt he might actually explode, or reach his hands up to the man's neck. He wanted to ask him, _When do you think I will be able to touch her again? Do you have any idea what you have just taken from me?_

Ruth was behind the glass now, the pod turning, separating them. And she was gone.

* * *

**CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN**

* * *

As Harry turned away from the pods, Adam was waiting. "So, do we back off Cotterdam?"

Harry was still seething. "Absolutely not. Cotterdam's the key." Harry walked past Adam toward his office. He needed to close his door, sit down, and think. He would not lose Ruth, he would not join Oliver Mace, and he would not be blackmailed. And although those seemed his only options at this point in time, Harry knew there were always options he hadn't thought of yet.

Ironically, this was the moment he would usually walk out on the Grid and go directly to Ruth's station. Harry would give her the facts and her mind would go to work on the puzzle. And then, some time later, with bright eyes and paper scattering in her wake, she would burst into his office without knocking and give him the answer. He would tell her to calm down, speak more slowly, and out would come a brilliant solution.

Still leaning against the door, Harry pressed his palms against his eyes, trying to block out what he had just seen. The anger was still flowing through him, the adrenaline giving him power, but he knew it would subside, and when it did, he would be left with the vision of her face. Eyes wide, lips parted in fear, breath coming quickly. She knew what awaited her, and she knew all too well that when the intelligence services framed someone, they did it well.

For a moment Harry was filled with a despair that was so deep it threatened to engulf him. He was unable to think, unable to move. His mind reached out for her, remembering Bath, her body, so beautiful, the feel of her skin under the lavender water, her face flushed with wine and happiness, her endless love for him. Harry felt himself slipping into a kind of madness, wanting to go back, find his way back to that place with her and never leave it.

_Oh, my sweet Ruth_. Harry took a deep breath and tried to imagine their future. Prison, exile, or freedom. And that choice rested in his hands. Freedom could be purchased by his allowing MI5 to become a puppet force, an instrument of the state. He could turn his head and play politics, nodding along with Oliver Mace when he knew wrong was being done.

Ruth would be freed, immediately, miraculously. But they would always be susceptible, she would always be a target. His love for Ruth and his fear for her safety would buy his silence at every JIC meeting, every investigation, any time Oliver Mace needed an ally. And Harry and Ruth would never be able to look each other in the eyes, knowing that their love had been purchased at such a cost.

Prison? Not an option. The third, exile, would happen first.

But if Ruth had taught Harry one thing, it was that there was always the fourth option, and that was the one Harry searched for now. He needed time. And he needed information. Where were they taking her? What was Mace planning to do? Harry needed to put himself in Oliver's place and think it through.

Harry willed himself to be calm. He was no good to Ruth in this condition. He still stood against the door, and as he lowered his hands from his face, he saw something glisten there on his palm. Tears. For a moment Harry just stared at them, trying to remember the last time he had cried. In Ruth's room at Havensworth, when he had gone to her and held her, thinking he might never have the chance again.

And since that time, Harry had allowed himself to believe, to dream. To hope. For a life beyond the one he had known. It was as if he had never seen colour before, had been blind to it, and suddenly the world was full of blues and greens and reds that he'd been unable to even describe until now. Until he held her in his arms the scent of lavender was simply a flower, a botanical fact. Now it was something that touched him so deeply he couldn't put a definition to it. It was Ruth.

He would _not_ lose her.

Harry wiped his cheeks with the back of his hand, and straightened. She needed him now and he needed a clear head. He walked to his windows and saw that the Grid was crawling with Special Branch, packing up boxes, carrying files. Members of the team, Jo, Malcolm, Adam, Zaf, watched. And Ros. How would he ever forgive her? And he felt for a moment what he imagined she had felt when she learned of her father's prison sentence. Now he was looking at the possibility of someone he loved going to prison, and Harry's heart opened to Ros' pain. He was very angry with her, but yes, he could forgive her. And he would need every member of his team now.

Adam was closest to the window. Harry rapped on the glass, and Adam turned. Harry beckoned him in. The door opened, and Harry stepped closer to speak with him. "What do we know?"

"Nothing. Mace is still here, directing his goons. They're tearing the place apart." Adam closed the door behind him.

Harry was barely suppressing his anger. "I need to speak with Oliver. Find him and send him …" Harry stopped and forced himself to be calm. He lowered his voice. "Find him and _ask_ him to join me in my office, please."

Adam nodded and started toward the door. He stopped and turned back. He seemed to be weighing what he was going to say carefully. He had seen enough to suspect the answer, but he had to pose the question. "Harry, I need to ask you. Does Mace know something that I don't know about you and Ruth?"

Harry exhaled softly. He kept his eyes on Adam's, considering his answer. Of course, by taking the time to do this, he had essentially answered Adam's question. Harry knew that it was unlikely that this secret could be kept. He had already told Ruth that Adam might need to be taken into their confidence. But most of all, if they were to bring everything they had to save Ruth, he needed Adam to have all of the facts.

"Yes." Harry pointed to the chair across from him. Adam sat, while Harry stayed leaning against the front of his desk. "We've been seeing each other, off the Grid, for several weeks. But I think we've both known that it's been going on for much longer than that."

Adam said nothing, but gave Harry a nod and a small smile.

Harry continued, his eyes focused on the floor. "I apologise for not telling you the truth about my week-end away, but I was with Ruth." Now he looked up into Adam's eyes. "I love her, Adam. Very much. And she loves me. This is not something temporary, or transitory. It is permanent. And will be, once we have some bloody peace to talk about it."

"How does Mace know?" Suddenly, Adam put the pieces together. With an intake of breath, he said, "That tube station is right near your house. Nowhere near Ruth's."

Harry pursed his lips and nodded. "I should have told you sooner. I will admit to not thinking very clearly lately. I should have told you before our briefing about Cotterdam. It just seemed a freak coincidence, but now it appears that Maudsley was trying to get to me through Ruth. He must have been watching my house."

Adam leant back in his chair. "And Mace wants, what? Your silence on the Cotterdam cover up?"

"Yes, and so much more." Harry stood and moved around to sit in his chair. "He wants me to join his _team_." Harry practically spat out the word. "Walk in lockstep with him whenever he asks. Play politics with him."

Adam thought for a moment. "So we have to clear Ruth, but that's only a temporary fix. We need to find a way to neutralise Mace." He looked over at Harry. "That's quite a tall order, Harry."

Harry stood up, letting Adam know it was time. "I need to talk to Oliver."

Adam stood and walked toward the door. He stopped at Harry's desk. "Thanks for telling me, Harry. That can't have been easy for you. And although I suspect it's not as big a secret as you think, I won't share what I know with any other members of the team," Adam paused for a moment, "unless it's absolutely necessary to help Ruth, yes?"

"Yes." Harry looked very tired, Adam thought. And very angry. It seemed to be in every word he said, every movement. Adam was assessing Harry's fitness as one of the team members, and his assessment told Adam he needed to give Harry the night off.

Before Adam opened the door, he turned to Harry and smiled. "For what it's worth, Harry, I'm happy for you. I think you're good for each other."

Harry smiled for the first time, but it held sadness. "Thanks, Adam. I do too."

* * *

"If it turns out to be wrong, I'll be the first one to celebrate with you, Harry. My hands were tied, you can see that. What would you have done, turned a blind eye?"

Harry looked across at Mace, and it was taking every ounce of strength he had not to simply reach out and strangle him. Smug was the only descriptive word that came to mind, and Oliver's voice was dripping with false goodwill. But Harry needed information, and he needed time. For this moment, for Ruth, Harry would be conciliatory, he would grovel, he would beg if he had to.

"I thought that was your specialty." _Not a very good start. _Harry heard the venom in his own voice, and resolved to try a little harder. _Remember, this is for Ruth._ But the blood was pounding in his ears, and his jaw felt as if it were wired shut. Harry knew what angry felt like, but Mace seemed to have taken him to a whole new level.

"Once a report is made, Harry, you know there is nothing one can do."

"You know Ruth, you know what she's capable of."

"Chinese type 67?"

Harry realised it was pointless to discuss this any further. They were both just dancing around the truth anyway. And although Oliver seemed to be enjoying himself, Harry didn't have the stomach for it anymore. "Look, I don't pretend to know what's really going on here, but I'm asking for your help. I need time, Oliver." There, he'd said it. He'd begged. He would do it for her. Ruth is the only one he would do this for.

Mace considered. Actually, time was good. The best outcome was to send the little analyst back to Harry safely, and hope the relationship lasts. The Maudsley files would be put away for future use if necessary. All Oliver would have to do was whisper Maudsley's name, and Harry would step in line. _Anyway_, Oliver thought, _this is fun. Enormously entertaining. This had looked to be a dull week, and now there was all this wonderful drama to contend with. Let's drag it out a bit, shall we?_

"I'll give you a day. I'll have her put under surveillance. One day, and then she'll be arrested. Don't ask me for more." Oliver couldn't resist a little Shakespearian tragedy, so he added a last-minute inspiration. "And no contact. Any contact between you and her, and it's out of my hands." _God, I love this job,_ Oliver thought. _And I'm so bloody good at it._

Harry answered through his teeth, his chest heaving. "Thank you." The word he would have rather used in place of "thank" would have lent the phrase a very different meaning. He simply had to make do with saying it in his head.

* * *

Ruth was escorted to her home and left with surveillance, just two agents in front, in a van. Mace put them there just for show, really. How bloody stupid did they think he was? After all, she was only a desk spook. She'd been playing at being a spy lately, but not very well. She'd followed every one of his clues like a rat in a maze.

The rest of the team was another matter, and Oliver knew they would be plotting. Especially Harry. But that was part of the fun, wasn't it? Mace didn't really care if people came in or out, all he cared about was that Harry knew Oliver held all the cards now.

Mace saw to it personally. Actually walked Ruth into her home wearing his most compassionate face. She wouldn't let him past the front hall, and told him rather rudely, he thought, to leave. He understood. She was upset.

But before he left, he leant down and whispered, "I told him if he comes to see you, you'll be arrested, Ruth. So if he does come to see you, he's putting you in danger. If he doesn't, well, it will be a lonely night, won't it?" Then he had pulled back and given her a reptilian look. "Shame. No trusty knight on the white steed. You do like your books, don't you?" Ruth shrunk back, feeling suddenly that she needed a wash.

Oliver had taken a calculated risk in targeting Ruth. It could have been something that meant nothing to Harry. It wouldn't be the first time a Section Head did his thinking with the wrong part of his anatomy, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. But Oliver had replayed Harry's outburst in his head countless times, and it seemed he enjoyed it even more each time: _Do not address me!_ Harry Pearce, man of steel, reduced to shouting because of his softness for a woman. It really was too delicious. Thank God for testosterone. It made spying so much simpler.

But it was more than that, wasn't it? Whilst Oliver had accused Harry's precious analyst, he had kept an eye on Harry. Harry was in _love_ with her. Bloody Harry Pearce in love. And as Oliver looked into Ruth's eyes, he knew that she thought she loved him too. Even better. Well, Oliver thought, I'm a romantic man. Let them have their little fable, and I will have my control.

Ruth simply stood in her hall after he left. And suddenly, exhausted in body and soul, she was sitting. In her coat and her scarf, in her own hallway, on the floor. She leant up against the wall and the tears began to fall. The ones that had been lurking under the surface for the last hour, really for the entire day.

Now that they were alone, Phoebe came out from behind the sofa, tentatively. Ruth saw her and called to her through her tears, reaching her hand out. Phoebe came up under her hand and rubbed, letting her know she missed her. Suddenly Ruth realised that she was probably going to prison, and fear gripped her along with the sadness.

The house was dark now, the light finally faded outside. She hadn't been home for four days, and the house was cold. Ruth remembered how she had felt the last time she'd been here. Her bag was packed and in this hall, right about where she sat crying now. She was waiting for Harry to pick her up and they were going to Bath. She'd been nervous, and so happy, so in love with Harry.

Thinking about Bath turned the silent tears into sobs now. His voice, his hands, their bodies in the soft light of the lamp, his words of love, his tenderness. So beautiful that she hadn't thought a lifetime was enough time. The love she felt for Harry right now was a physical pain in her body. _No trusty knight on the white steed_. Ruth thought this might be beyond even Harry's reach.

But as she took herself back to that last night with Harry in Bath, she remembered what she had felt, what she had promised herself. _Nothing can touch this. No outside influence, no person, nothing. She would never doubt him again._ She had already broken that promise, but she didn't know how to crawl out of the abyss in which she found herself. She couldn't seem to find an answer to this puzzle.

How was Harry ever to have happiness in his life? He'd lived alone for so long, and now she thought she understood why. Self-control, self-denial. This is what it prevented. She was his weakness, and it was at her they had struck. She had seen his rage finally boil over as she stepped into the pods. Ruth put her hands up to her cheeks, covering the tears that were now coursing down her face. Was he sorry? Did he regret it now?

Ruth knew Mace wanted Harry to back off of Cotterdam, and she suspected that pointed to a larger issue. Oliver wanted to control Harry, to bind up the loose cannon. Now that Mace knew, would he ever stop? Ruth's hand went to her neck, and she touched the charms, trying to still feel his lips there. Harry's wonderful, soft, warm lips. Now the spot felt only of tears, and they were cold.


	10. Chapter 10

**CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT**

* * *

Harry couldn't seem to stand still. It was cold, but that wasn't the reason. He simply could not keep his feet from moving. He supposed it was because he was feeling more helpless, more ineffectual, more bloody _useless_, than he could ever remember. The feeling was of being in a prison cell. No matter where he was, his office or the street, he felt he was in a cell, pacing, measuring a small, claustrophobic space.

He couldn't see her, and he didn't know how to help her. And he loved her more than he thought possible. In fact, his love for Ruth seemed to have taken on a monumental proportion in his life. He was unable to go for more than a few minutes without thinking about her, without seeing her face behind his eyes, the fear and resignation of that last look through the pods. He knew this was not rational behaviour, but he had no road map because he had never felt this way before. And there seemed to be no antidote.

He ached to hold her. It was a physical need, in his arms, his shoulders, his hands. It was like hunger, really, as if there were an emptiness that needed filling. And like hunger, he knew that it could be satisfied, but would come again and again. He knew that if he held her now, he would want to tomorrow, and forever. So he paced. And not in a good way.

Of course, it was made unbearable by the fact that this separation was imposed by Oliver Mace. Harry knew that until Mace was stopped, the feeling would never go away, even with Ruth firmly in his arms. One look, one tilt of Mace's repulsive head, and Harry would see Ruth being taken from him again, see her again being led through the pods, the fear in her eyes.

It was cold, and the dark was coming on. Had this day really started with Ruth standing at the top of his stairs in his shirt? Harry squeezed his eyes shut, trying to will himself back there, back to the hope he had felt. _I will feel that way again. We will get through this_. These were not just empty promises to himself. He had already laid out the full spectrum of possibilities with Adam, and every one of them ended with Ruth safe. Any other possibility did not exist.

The Grid was swarming with people, and Harry knew that everything they said would be scrutinised, so they met at the doghouse. One by one, the team gathered to regroup, and Adam took charge. "We need to stay calm. Work at our best to clear her name."

Harry and Adam had agreed that it simply would not be prudent to have Harry running any part of this operation. He had agreed to stand by and trust Adam, because both of them knew he was unable to separate his personal feelings from any appropriate action. In fact, Harry had admitted to Adam that he was so overcome by emotions, by anger, fear, love, and the need for retribution, that he was having difficulty even functioning. He had handed Ruth's life to Adam, and still stood by that decision. But that left Harry with nothing to do but try to keep himself out of trouble, and to stall Mace if possible. And pace. And worry. As everyone moved into a circle, Harry asked them, "Was anyone followed here?"

"I think we're clear." At the sound of footsteps, Adam wheeled around to see Ros walking toward them. "Surprised to see you here."

Ros spoke softly to Adam. "Can I have a word?"

"No, whatever you've got to say, say it here to us all." Adam was still quite angry with Ros. He knew that her betrayal had more to do with getting back at Harry than it did with Ruth, even if Ros wouldn't admit it herself.

Ros was typically unrepentant. "I'm not sorry. I was doing my job."

"But you were wrong."

"I agree she's been set up if that's what you mean," Ros said. Adam nodded. He thought he would have to trust her, because he needed everyone now. And he would give her a chance right away to prove that she was trustworthy. Adam had been planning to have Jo stand in for Ruth so they could get Ruth out to help them find the drop. But he decided now that he would ask Ros after this meeting, and see how she reacted. Then he would decide if he could trust her.

Jo asked the question that everyone was thinking. "Why frame Ruth, though? What do they gain?"

Harry finally spoke, answering the question. "They get to me." The ache in his voice, his clear agitation, the combination of worry and hurt in his eyes, told them all they needed to know. It was the most admission they would get from him, but it was enough. Now every suspicion, every whispered piece of gossip was as good as confirmed.

Everyone knew that when Harry Pearce's people were in danger, or were being treated unfairly, he was a terrible thing to behold. This was not that man. The man who stood with them now wore a look that resembled nothing so much as grief. Mind-numbing, paralysing, agonising grief.

It even managed to melt a small corner of Ros' heart. She had never seen Harry like this. "How is she?"

Malcolm spoke up. He still couldn't look at Ros, so he focused on a spot of pavement, sounding incredibly sad for his two friends. "No one's been allowed to speak to her."

Harry spoke directly to Ros. "How do you think she is? Scared out of her wits." Hard as he tried, he couldn't keep the accusation out of his voice. Ros had handed their lives to Mace. He would still have known about them, but Ros' report opened the official doors for Ruth's arrest. And the fact that it had come from inside the Grid made it feel like a personal betrayal. Ros at least had the good grace to look a little contrite.

Adam knew this processing was necessary, but it wasn't entirely helpful right now. They had one day, from now until about 7:00 p.m. tomorrow, if Mace were to measure it to the minute. They would need to develop a plan now, and would wake early to begin implementing it. But they needed a plan. "We need to think quickly, find out whatever it was Maudsley was trying to get to Ruth."

Zaf was glad to hear this. The last few hours had seemed surreal to him. Finally, they were believing her. "So we're all agreed. Maudsley made a drop."

Adam nodded. "Yeah, I think it's time to trust Ruth."

"If I hadn't been so pig-headed, I would have done that in the first place." Harry knew he wasn't helping Adam, but he couldn't seem to stop himself. He kept replaying every conversation with Ruth, hearing again every condescending, patronising thing he'd said to her. _Relax. Don't get fixated. It's over. _He wanted nothing more right now than to turn back the clock.

Adam continued as if Harry hadn't spoken. "Let's assume for a moment that Maudsley is innocent. He's in the prison that night, he knows Special Branch are hiding something in their report. He identifies Ruth as the right person to get information to Harry." Adam stopped himself, and looked over at Harry, wanting to assure him that he wouldn't say too much. "It's a good choice, close but not too close."

Ros asked the obvious question, although she thought she knew the answer. "Why not go straight to Harry?"

Adam answered, "Too risky, chances are he's being watched."

So then this would have to be something big. Ros asks, "What the hell is it?"

Adam was starting to believe this was very big. "Pandora's box. Something worth dying for to expose."

Everyone was aware that Harry was contributing nothing to this exchange. Not only was he not speaking, but he had now consolidated his pacing to a small invisible box just below him on the pavement. He stepped forward, and then back, keeping his eyes down, moving obsessively, without purpose. And to those who didn't already know, his feelings were as clear as if he has spoken them.

This was more than a Section Head concerned for an agent in the field. They had seen Harry in that circumstance more times than they wanted to remember. This was different, although they had all seen this often too, from the people they were protecting. This was fear, pure and simple. Fear for the fate of a person deeply loved.

It was so raw, so open, and Harry seemed so vulnerable, that it was almost hard to watch. And Harry deserved their respect, so they ignored it. They let him pace, and continued to do what they could, which was work through the problem. But everyone knew now, even more, what was at stake here.

Zaf spoke up, "What do we know about Maudsley?" Adam replied, "Military background. Before working in prisons he had some intelligence training."

Jo said, "So the drop could be anywhere." Ros knew that if the drop was targeted at Ruth, it would have to do with her precise knowledge, "No. It'll somewhere very specific."

Adam continued, "Somewhere only Ruth would be able to uncover. He'll have laid the drop with extreme care." Adam turned to Zaf. "Zaf, I want you to check all satellite images of Cotterdam that night. We can't rely on the official evidence."

"And Harry ... " Adam turned to him. Everyone in the circle wondered what there _was_ to say to Harry.

Harry looked at Adam. If they thought he didn't already know that he was the weakest member of the team, they were wrong. He practically growled his answer. "I know, stay level-headed."

Harry agreed with Adam's concern. He was concerned for himself.

* * *

As Harry drove home, he wondered. What exactly does level-headed mean anyway?

What Adam would probably prefer is that Harry go home and make his way through the better part of a bottle of single malt, stay out of the way, and let him do his job. That scenario had definitely crossed Harry's mind. But he knew it wouldn't make the ache go away. It was like the feeling of having drunk too much coffee, or insomnia, when a physical sensation makes sleep or relaxation or even intoxication simply impossible.

_How do you think she is? Scared out of her wits_. Harry was actually having trouble staying in his body. As if his hands gripping the steering wheel were the only thing keeping him from flying off in space. The combination of rage and desperation had clouded his thinking so completely that he was considering turning the wheel and driving to her house. He would walk right through the front door, put his arms around her and go to prison with her. At least they would have those few moments of peace together. Simply thinking about it calmed him somewhat, and his senses returned.

Harry pulled over to the side of the road and switched off the ignition. In the sudden silence, he could now hear his breathing, fast and hard, as if he had just run up a flight of stairs. He began to measure his breaths carefully, and closed his eyes. _I have been interrogated. I have been tortured. I have seen and heard things that would chill the blood of any ordinary citizen. And this … this loss of her… reduces me to a helpless man. _

Harry breathed again, deeply. _I need to get hold of myself. Ruth needs me to_. Harry brought all his strength to bear, and when he ran out of that, he brought her love. He saw her face, her eyes, and remembered the feeling of invincibility he had in Bath. After they made love, the feeling that together they moved within a force field, a protective shell that was impervious to the world. He had said he would never doubt its strength, and now, here he was doubting it.

Another deep breath, and he was feeling the control returning to his body. His hands were still on the steering wheel, but gradually the knuckles lost their white pallor, gradually the muscles in his hands, his arms, his shoulders, let go and relaxed. Another breath, and he opened his eyes and let go entirely of the wheel, putting his hands limply at his sides. Now he could think.

Harry put himself in Mace's position. What did Mace want? Control. What gave him that control? Ruth. Not in prison, but in Harry's arms. Prison wasn't the result that Oliver wanted. The relationship was. Mace didn't want Ruth locked away, he wanted her free and accessible and in Harry's heart, so that Harry could feel constantly what the loss of her would be.

_Any contact between you and her, and it's out of my hands_. As Harry replayed that final conversation in his head, he saw what his enormous rage had prevented him from seeing. _Mace has gotten too cocky_. That last bit, the dramatic final slap to Harry, was really more the stuff of soap opera. It was beneath Oliver, of course, but more than that, it tipped his hand. One of the cardinal rules of being a spook. Never, _never_ believe that you have _all_ the cards. Always hold out the belief that there's something you don't know. Some angle you haven't calculated.

Harry remembered his early training, although it now seemed hundreds of years ago. How they would stand to be ready for attack. Muscles coiled, feet apart, knees bent, arms wide, ready for anything. Right now, Mace was sitting comfortably, probably with an expensive scotch in one hand, and an expensive cigar in the other. He was enjoying his own little personal debrief long before the operation was over. And sitting by the side of the road, Harry realised that Mace's monolithic ego became his own advantage.

The surveillance would be cursory, wouldn't it? Simply a part of the performance. It would amuse Mace that he had kept Harry away with just a few threatening words and a couple of bored agents playing rummy in the back of a van. It was a game to Oliver, and Harry was unwilling to let his Ruth go through this night alone in order to take part in Oliver Mace's game. Harry wouldn't play.

And once he had that firmly under his belt, Harry knew he had to see Ruth. It was not going to be physically, psychologically or emotionally possible for him to prevent it. And he knew that it wouldn't hurt anyone, despite what Oliver had said.

He sat just for a moment more, assuring himself that he wasn't rationalising all of this, before he turned the key in the ignition and pulled out on to the road. For the first time since he had left Ruth early this morning, he felt calm, and he allowed a small smile to pull at the corners of his mouth. Whatever tomorrow brought, tonight he was going to her. His Ruth.

* * *

She still hadn't taken off her coat or turned on the heat. She had managed to stand, and she'd walked over to the window to pull the sheer curtains aside. The white van was still there. The men weren't sitting in the front any more, but Ruth assumed they were in the back of the van. She could see a faint glow through the windows.

The tears had stopped because she didn't think she had any more of them. She'd thrown her shoes off, and now she walked in bare feet, feeling the cold of the wood down to her toes. The fluffy girls followed her everywhere she went, right around her legs. Ruth thought that either they had missed her, or they felt her distress, in the way that animals do, and wanted to be beside her in case she should need them. Likely a little of both, Ruth thought.

She was tidying up the house. _If I'll not be back for awhile, I'd hate to think of people finding dust bunnies in the corners. _She knew she wasn't being rational, but she didn't seem to have the energy necessary to search for her common sense. She felt as if she were dying, sort of, but with some notice, which most people don't have. So she walked around her house seeing it from the eyes of whoever would next walk through it. A stranger, probably. _What happens to the house of a person who goes to prison?_ It was a question she'd never really considered.

Ruth picked up her mobile again, checking for messages. Of course there weren't any. And there wouldn't be. She thought that last bit from Oliver Mace was a smidge over the top, actually. Salt in the wound, and so evil. If Harry contacted her somehow, he was being reckless. If he didn't, she would be alone all night. And this promised to be a very long night indeed. _How can someone take pleasure in making another person feel this way?_ And Mace did find it pleasurable. He even licked his lips for emphasis, like a snake. Ruth shuddered, and the cold really did start to enter her body.

She flicked on the furnace, and heard it start up. Well, at least they wouldn't find her frozen in the morning. Then she went to the kitchen, finally, to do what she knew she would do all along. She would make sweet tea for herself. Harry would want her to.

She followed the path he had followed, slowly, methodically. The sink to the cupboard, then back, fill the kettle. Turn it on. Measure the sugar, pull down the cups. She brought down two, without thinking, and slowly moved one back up to its place on the shelf. And she checked her mobile again. No messages.

But then she thought of something, and as she leant back on the counter, she pushed another button on her phone and held it to her ear. She closed her eyes, and they quickly filled with tears that squeezed through her closed lids by their sheer weight, falling through the lashes, down her cheeks and on to the kitchen floor.

_Ruth. I'm only calling to say goodnight, and to say that my mind is filled with you. I wish you sweet dreams, my Ruth. _

His message from Havensworth. The one she had never deleted. Before she knew he loved her. Before she had felt the skin on his back, soft and strong under her fingers, before she knew the power of his body when he wanted her. And here she was, crying, desperately sad, feeling she'd lost him again. The only thing really that had changed was that she wanted him more.

She pushed the button over and over, until she could hear it without the phone to her ear. His voice was in her head, on an endless loop. And the tears kept falling.

"Ruth."

Yes, there it was. The beginning of the message, but this time it sounded like it came from another part of the room. Ruth opened her eyes, and there he was.

"Harry?"

Not just irrational. Insane. In the half-light he looked almost ghostly, but he was coming toward her, and then she was in his arms. Not a ghost at all, real, solid, feeling like Harry, his coat softly scratching her cheek, his chest moving with his breath, his voice at her ear, "Ruth, oh, my Ruth. God, I couldn't bear it. I couldn't leave you alone tonight."

* * *

**CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE**

* * *

She put her hand up to his face, feeling him, making sure he was real. "Harry, you're here. You came." She nuzzled into his shoulder, holding him tightly, and she whispered, very softly, "My trusty knight."

He pulled back and looked in her eyes to see if he had heard her correctly. She smiled sadly at him. "He said you wouldn't come … that you couldn't come."

Harry kissed her, gently, "I won't let Oliver Mace tell me what I can and cannot do. Especially as it concerns you." He held her more tightly to him. "Christ, I needed this. To feel you next to me." The pain he had felt earlier, the restlessness, subsided and disappeared. Harry exhaled deeply into her hair, and he felt calm and centred.

He could feel her crying now, as she held him. "Harry, am I going to prison? Can they do this?"

Harry stroked her hair, tenderly, but his voice was firm. "No. No matter what, you're not going to prison. Believe that." He moved his mouth closer to her ear, and repeated it, more softly. "You are not going to prison."

Now she spoke all her fears from the last few hours, the ones that had been rattling around in her head as she wandered alone through her house. "But Zoe, she had to leave, she's gone, no one will ever see her again. That would be worse than prison, Harry. Never to see you again?"

He held her tighter, as if his arms could press the fear out of her. "That will not happen. I won't let it. _I_ couldn't bear it, Ruth."

"But this weakens you, your power against him, I've done that to you." She pulled away now, trying to wipe the tears from her face as she spoke. Her voice was rising with the intensity of her feelings, "I never wanted that, Harry. I was afraid of it, all along. That somehow my loving you would make you unable to be what you needed to be. And now it's happened."

Harry took her face in his hands, making sure her eyes were on his. He brushed away the tears with his thumbs as he spoke. "Ruth. I'm here now. You're safe. Please stop." He kissed her, feeling the trembling of her lips under his, tasting her tears. "Stop. Please." As she started to calm, he placed her head on his chest again, and held her there. He spoke the words as if they were a mantra, a chant. "I love you. You are part of my life. We will get through this."

"How, Harry? How?" Now her voice was like a soft wail, the question hanging in the air between them, and he felt her quivering under his hands, like that bird that landed on his doorstep not so long ago. That had been the beginning for them, and Harry searched in his mind for how this would end. He didn't have any more answers than she did, really.

As he heard the last of her question fade out in his mind, Harry heard the kettle begin to boil. He pulled away, gently, and whispered, "The tea."

Ruth nodded, sniffling. "Do you mind?" she said, softly, and Harry nodded back as he turned off the heat. She pulled a towel from the counter and held it to her face to catch the tears that were beginning to subside. She thought of how she must look to him. "I'm a disaster, Harry." She tried to smile, and Harry felt his heart almost break, it was such a lovely attempt at being brave.

"You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen." He moved to her and stroked her cheek, brushing her lips tenderly. "Now stand there and watch me make tea. We tried this once before, but I was called away." He pulled another cup down from the shelf. "It won't happen this time. I have been excused from all current operations because it seems I am unfit for duty."

Ruth tilted her head and then understood. The tears had stopped now, but her voice was so quiet he had to concentrate to understand her. "That's what I'm talking about, Harry. I never meant to take you from your job."

Harry took her hands, letting the tea steep. "Nothing is perfect, my Ruth. Things change. I have been very good at my job, but I've been an unhappy man. I can realise it now, with you in my life. I'll still be good at my job if they'll let me, but I won't sacrifice you to it." He turned back to the tea. "I refuse to believe that this is an 'either-or' situation. I know I can love you, and I can be Section Head. And I can do both well."

"If Mace will let you." Ruth was feeling herself coming back now, and was grateful that she could look for solutions with Harry. She had missed him so much tonight. He was the only one she really wanted to talk to, and it had been so hard to think it through alone.

"Yes." Harry handed her a cup of steaming sweet tea. The kitchen had warmed somewhat, due to the now-running furnace, but it was still cold. Harry pointed to the lounge. "You mind if I make a fire? It's a little chilly in here, Ruth." Harry took her hand and led her over to the sofa.

Harry took the tea out of Ruth's hands and set it down. He turned to her and pulled the woollen scarf gently from her neck, and began to unbutton her coat. Ruth stood passively, watching his eyes, feeling like a child, but so intensely grateful he was here. Harry pushed the coat off of her shoulders and laid it across the chair. Then he lifted the afghan from the back of the sofa and placed it tenderly around her shoulders before moving her to sit on the couch and handing her the cup of tea.

Now Harry was taking his coat off too, and loosening his tie. He laid both next to Ruth's things, and moved over to the fireplace. He removed his cufflinks, rolled up his sleeves and began to make the fire. Ruth marvelled that she had watched him dress this morning, and now she was watching him undress. The continuity of that pleased her. Fidget hopped up on the chair and started to knead Harry's coat. Phoebe joined her on Ruth's, and both soon made themselves comfortable on the warm wool.

Ruth smiled sweetly at Harry, curling her legs under her as she sat. "Well, Harry, it's chilly in here because I've been away for a few days."

Harry inhaled deeply, remembering. "Ah, yes, you have. And being a very wicked girl, if I recall."

Ruth laughed quietly, for the first time in quite a while. The tears had made her voice a bit raw, and she spoke softly, seductively. "I was led to wickedness, by a man with a silver tongue." She blew across her tea, cooling it, but holding him with her eyes.

Harry stopped what he was doing and looked at her with a shake of his head. "Now, how am I supposed to do this whilst you talk in such a manner? I'm being very primitive here. Allow me to continue without seducing me, if you please."

"I was talking about how you _spoke_ to me, Harry." Ruth sipped her tea, an innocent, angelic look on her face.

Harry laughed and said doubtfully, "Of course you were."

For a time they enjoyed the silence, with Harry making the fire, and Ruth watching him. She never took her eyes off him, as he methodically tore the paper and laid it under the logs, kindling poking out from between. Ruth loved every movement of his hands, the expression of his mouth as he concentrated. She thought she could watch him forever.

Harry's playfulness had helped a little, but it couldn't help for long. There was too much on her mind.

"What's the plan, Harry?" Ruth made it sound offhand, but she was still terrified, and Harry knew it. He put the last log on the fire and lit the newspaper he had so carefully placed, watching it as it crackled and caught. Harry waited until he was certain the fire was going, and stood.

He spoke as confidently as he could, hoping to allay her fears. "We discover Maudsley's real drop and find out what it has to say. My hunch is that it will implicate someone in the Cotterdam fire, and I can only hope it will be Oliver Mace. Then he and I sit across from each other at his club or mine, and we dance around who has the nastier bit." Harry sat down next to Ruth and put his arm around her. "My guess is that it will be mine." He kissed her on the head.

Ruth sat up and looked at him. "But you can't do that, Harry. He doesn't send me to prison, and you don't expose Cotterdam? That's seven lives for one. It's not worth it."

Harry looked down at their hands, which were now entwined. "I'll cross that bridge when I come to it. But I promise you, Ruth." He looked up at her and held her eyes. "You are _not_ going to prison."

Ruth's eyes grew dark. "And when does it ever end, Harry? You bury this one, and what's next? You disagree with him in a JIC meeting, you look _sideways_ at him, and he whispers my name to you? How long will it take for you to come to despise me? To despise us?"

Harry pulled her to him, and his confident tone dissolved a little. "I can't think that far ahead. I need to get you safe, and once that's done we will work through the rest." Harry paused, and Ruth could feel his heart, loud and steady, in his chest. He was trembling slightly, and she put her arms around him, finally understanding how desperate he felt. He didn't have all the answers.

Harry realised how tightly he was holding her, and released his grip slightly, taking a deep breath. "The best news would be that Maudsley's drop gives us what we need to neutralise Oliver. That it's damaging enough." He moved his head down so that he could touch her lips with his. "So we need your help."

Ruth sat up, alert. "How can I help? I'm in here." Suddenly it hit her, and she smiled. "Do you know, until this second it hadn't occurred to me how _you_ got in here. How did you do that, Harry?"

He smiled. "I wish I could say that it was through my superior skills, but I picked the lock on your back door and walked in. No guards in the back, and I think the two out front are asleep."

Ruth frowned. "Then what was the point?" His look told her that Mace never really intended to keep them apart tonight. She sighed, and shook her head. "Oh, he's an evil man. He had me so scared, Harry. Horrible, horrible man."

Harry stroked her hair, gently. "He can't win, Ruth. We're too strong for him."

Ruth smiled at Harry's determined look. "So how do I help?"

"Ros will come tomorrow, early, to take your place here whilst you and Adam look for the drop." Harry looked back at the fire, now blazing. "Maudsley had an intelligence background, so it should be something specifically aimed toward you. We need your eyes." Harry gave her a teasing look. "Probably some obscure reference to Sumerian demi-gods or some such that only you and six other people on the planet would understand."

Ruth smiled. "God is in the details, Harry." Then she looked more seriously at him. "Everyone believes me now? About the drop?"

He turned to her, nodding. "Yes. I should have believed you when you first told me." Harry's fingers strayed to the necklace again, his arm laying across Ruth's on the back of the sofa. "I was being selfish. It wasn't that I didn't believe you, I didn't _want_ to believe you. I was afraid you would get too involved and it would become dangerous. I seem to remember at one point calling myself a patronising, superior, selfish bloody bastard." He shook his head. "Or words to that effect."

Ruth put her hand over his on her shoulder. "You're a little too hard on yourself, Harry."

"I just keep thinking of all the ways this could have been prevented. Starting with staying in Bath an extra night." He leant in and kissed her tenderly. "That's one instinct I should have followed."

"This is our work, Harry. And it will always be dangerous. We had to come home sometime." Ruth put her hand on his shoulder, right where Tom Quinn shot him. "You're the one who keeps finding bullets, you know."

Harry looked down at her hand, and then at her. "Do you know what happens when you get shot, Ruth? When you look down the barrel of a gun and think it's the last thing you'll ever see? You want to do everything, experience everything. Unfinished business. All of it floods you. Regrets. What won't I have time to do? And it happens in a fraction of a second."

Harry looked over at the fire again, and Ruth watched the lights dance in his eyes. "I've felt all of that, but I've felt also that there was nothing in my life that gave me deep regret to lose. The kind of searing regret that someone who truly loves another person has, about the loss of another day with that person." He looked back at Ruth. "I would have it now, with you. The loss of one more day."

Ruth leant over and kissed him. She kept her lips on his, not moving, for a long time, as if she were transferring some part of her, or partaking of some part of him. He felt her love profoundly. When she pulled away, she smiled at him, and simply said, "Thank you for that, Harry."

He smiled back at her. "So, you see, Ruth. I can't lose you now. I won't."

"Then you won't." Ruth moved back toward him and leant her head on his shoulder. They both looked at the fire for a moment before she spoke again. "So Ros will take my place here." Ruth paused, then asked, "She reported me to Mace, didn't she, Harry?"

"Yes."

"Why do you think she did that?"

"To get to me." Harry shook his head slightly. "I seem to be saying that rather a lot today. You may be coming to the conclusion that it's hazardous to love me."

Ruth snuggled in closer. "It's worth it, Harry. That's actually somewhat of a relief. I thought she personally hated me. So this was still about her father? "

"She wouldn't say that, but yes, I think that's why. Funny how quickly everyone figured out that hurting you is the one way to hurt me." Harry smiled sadly. "Zaf said she called you my 'rose-tinted blind spot.' Perhaps she's right."

Ruth smiled against his chest. "I've thought at times that you dealt more severely with me than with anyone else on the Grid, just to prove there was nothing special between us. Remember that bloody disciplinary hearing you gave me? About my listening in on John Fortesque?" Ruth sat up and looked at him, remembering. "Oooh, I was so _angry_ with you."

"There's a simple explanation for that, Ruth. I was jealous. That's why I had Sam watch you." Harry looked down at his hands, slightly embarrassed. "I suppose I didn't think I could have you, but didn't want anyone else to, either." He looked back at her. "So you were right to call me a coward, weren't you?"

Ruth smiled, her voice calming. "No, not a coward. That was a cruel word. I just couldn't understand why you made such a game out of it. Being watched like that, my emails scrutinised, bringing Sam and Malcolm in on it. I felt silly, like I'd been caught in the cookie tin. And pathetic. And lonely." Ruth moved her hand over to Harry's and curled her fingers around his. "And it was worse that you saw it. I thought you were laughing at me."

Harry brought her hand to his lips. "Not laughing. Never laughing. I was afraid it might go further. I wanted to be sure I wasn't losing you completely to this perfect, singing, handsome man."

Ruth laughed softly. "Oh, Harry. It was always you. I just didn't think I could have you." She kissed him lightly, and then curled back into his arm. "I said something terrible as I left you that day. I think I told you that your heart had turned to stone."

Harry sighed. "Yes. But the tape was still running. When I got the transcript for the file, they caught something I said after you left."

Ruth tilted her head up so she could look at him. "What did you say?"

"_Not stone, Ruth. Far from it_."

She ran her hand across the front of his white shirt, feeling the strength of his chest under the starched cotton. "What a waste, Harry. We could have been doing this all this time."

Ruth sighed heavily, and hugged him. "So, to tomorrow. We find the drop and I come back here?"

"Yes."

"And if we don't?"

"I will find a way to keep Mace from having you arrested."

Ruth tilted her head up at him, suspicious. "What, Harry? What will you do?"

Harry played with a strand of her hair, and smiled at her. "That would assume I _know_ at this point what I'm going to do, Ruth."

Ruth felt a chill run down the back of her neck. She pulled away and looked at him, searching his eyes. She was suddenly so weary of everything, of this day, of worrying. "Please don't do anything stupid, Harry."

Harry heard the tone in her voice, so beaten, so tired. He reached down and lifted her chin with his finger, and touched his lips to hers. Ruth put her arms around his neck, her breath soft against his cheek. His hand went to her necklace, as it always did now, and as he kissed her, Ruth could feel him touching the charms, as if he gained some secret power from them, or perhaps just to remind himself that it had all happened, that it was real.

Harry parted his lips, feeling hers warm and yielding on his mouth. The fire filled the room with soft light that flickered and played on their skin, causing gold highlights behind their closed eyes. As they pressed still further, both felt that this was time they thought they wouldn't have, stolen time together, and it was more precious for that. Their quickening breath and the crackle of the fire were the only sounds in the room.

Ruth pulled away from him, her eyes soft, her voice low. "The truth, Harry. Is there any chance that this will be our last night together? I'm so tired, all I want is to lie here with you and watch the fire burn out in your arms. But if there's any chance at all, I don't want to spend the rest of my life wishing we had made love."

Despite the seriousness of the question, and he knew she was absolutely serious, Harry had to smile. "The truth? No, this is not our last night together. No matter what happens. You have me, body and soul, and I will crawl to the ends of the Earth to make love to you again." Harry kissed her lightly. "And I'm tired too, and so grateful to have you in my arms right now. This is enough. This is more than enough."

Harry felt her relax as she cuddled back into him. He adjusted several pillows behind him so that he was almost reclined, and pulled the afghan around both of them. And as he had been thinking about it all day, he had to say it.

"After this is all over, my Ruth, when we are safely back in my bed or yours, there's something I want to tell you about my plans for our future. Something I planned out years ago, after my dream. I should have told you then, but I never seemed to find the courage."

Ruth looked up at him. She thought she knew, and she wanted it too, so much. But not with all of this hanging over their heads, everything so unsettled. Ruth knew that Harry wasn't thinking clearly right now, everything between them was heightened by fear and uncertainty, and it was not the time to be discussing the future. "When we're safely back in your bed, Harry, yes, we'll talk about it."

Harry kissed her tenderly. "Good. Now sleep. I love you, my Ruth. Everything will work out."

Ruth's eyes were starting to close. She was surrounded by Harry, warm and familiar, and feeling so strong beside her. The fire danced on his arms where the blonde hairs caught the gold and orange light from the flames. She felt a need to say something, but she was so tired. It came out sleepy, muffled, but she could tell by the way he held her that he had heard.

"No matter what happens, Harry, I am happier in this moment than I have ever been. I know what love is now, and it is this. I didn't think I would ever find it. You are my love, and I have no regrets."

* * *

**CHAPTER THIRTY**

* * *

Ruth had fallen asleep in Harry's arms, although it was only for a few hours. Harry didn't sleep at all. When the fire started to die out, he moved gently away from her and put another log on, and then he crouched next to the sofa and watched her sleep. Tonight he did listen to her breathing, and he gazed at the flicker of her eyelids as the light from the fire played across her beautiful face.

He had told her it wouldn't be their last night together, and Harry believed that with all his heart. What he didn't tell her was that he couldn't be certain how long they would have to wait for another night. So he wasn't willing to lose these last few hours to the oblivion of sleep. He wanted to drink her in, to have as clear a picture as he could of her face, her lips, her eyes.

Of course he had the file photo of her, but he wanted more. So as she slept he wandered her shelves, with Phoebe and Fidget following suspiciously behind. He found what he was looking for, a small framed photo of Ruth. It was winter, her face was flushed with the cold, her scarf bundled tightly about her neck, some sort of wool cap covering just the top of her head. Her brown hair spread across the scarf, and there was the blur of snowflakes dotting the strands.

She was looking up, toward the grey, snow-filled sky, smiling. Her eyes were laughing, and she was achingly beautiful. Harry tucked the frame into his coat pocket and hoped to be returning it to her soon. He hoped he would confess his kleptomania and be embarrassed about having taken it, and they would laugh about it. Soon, he hoped.

When it was time, when the light was just starting to change outside, he awakened her with a kiss. For hours he had looked at her lips and wanted to kiss them, and now he finally did. She stirred, and sighed, and opened her eyes. For a moment, she looked at him with the same tranquil gaze he had seen in Bath. She was happy just to see him, and the world was a safe and untroubled place. But he knew that consciousness would soon descend, and it did.

Slowly, a frown started, as she remembered. Then her eyes grew sad, and she put her arms around him, holding him close to her. "Oh, Harry." It was all she needed to say. He kissed her again, and whispered, "I love you," feeling he couldn't say it enough now. Just in case.

Harry didn't want to frighten her, but the gut feeling had now become a part of his anatomy. It was a presence that never left him, and melded with his heart and his mind. Just in case. The words preceded every thought. So he stood up and went to make tea. He wanted sweet tea with her this morning, just in case.

Ruth sat up and pulled the afghan to her, watching him over the back of the sofa. He brought her a cup and she sipped at it. It was hot and delicious, and Ruth thought again how much she would like to have tea with Harry every morning. Fidget leapt up to her lap and immediately formed herself to it, surrounded in the warm wool, with Ruth's hand absentmindedly stroking her.

"What will you do today?" Ruth sounded like any English housewife, perhaps the shopgirl. For a moment, she could believe the fantasy. In the warmth of the room, with the cat on her lap, tea in her hand, and a wonderful man in her kitchen. A man she loved very much. But she wasn't asking him an ordinary question, was she?

He smiled at her and shrugged a bit as he brought his own cup over to sit by her on the sofa. "As I said, I've been effectively banned from the field for this operation." Harry leant down and kissed her soundly. "Too emotional," he said, as he then pulled a face that made her laugh. He snuggled in next to her, upsetting Fidget as he did so. "I suppose I'll wait to hear from you and Adam, and then wait to hear from Mace. He'll want to press his advantage."

"What will you say to him?" Ruth sipped her tea again.

"Depends on what he says to me." Harry's eyes took on the steely glint that told Ruth how angry he was. She put her hand, warm from the cup, on his cheek and held it there. Harry looked over at her and the steel disappeared into a smile.

"Be careful, Harry. He wants to make you lose your temper." Ruth laid her head on his shoulder and changed the subject before Harry could object. "When do I need to be ready for Ros?"

Harry looked at his watch. "You have a couple of hours." He hadn't realised it was so late. "I, on the other hand," he kissed her quickly and then set his cup down on the table, "must go much sooner than that. It's getting light out, and I don't want to be too blatant as I sneak out of here."

Harry stood up and started to button his shirt completely. She saw him pluck his tie from the chair and proceed to tie it, without mirror, into a perfect Windsor knot. She thought it was quite a stunning thing to watch.

Harry smiled over at her, affection filling his eyes. "You're studying me again, Ruth."

Ruth looked back at him unflinchingly. She spoke softly, with love. "I doubt I'll ever tire of it, Harry." She suddenly set her tea down, stood, and went to him. Putting her arms round him, Ruth laid her head on his chest and closed her eyes, silently. Harry's arms went round her, and they stood that way, quietly, for some minutes.

Finally, Harry moved his lips close to her ear and whispered, "You remember what I showed you, Ruth? When I talked about Sunstrike?" His voice had a sudden urgency to it. "You go there if you should ever need a place to be safe. You go there, and I'll find you. Do you understand?"

Ruth nodded against his chest, and she felt both their hearts begin to speed. Now she knew how truly worried Harry was. And as was her way, Ruth felt a need to give him care.

She pulled back and showed him a brave smile. "You should go now, Harry." She leant up and kissed him, lightly. "I'll see you tonight." Neither of them knew what that meant, but both were willing to pretend they were sure it would happen. Ruth looked deeply into Harry's eyes, and he could see every emotion written there. "I love you, Harry."

She saw the same in his eyes. "I love you, Ruth." And then he was gone.

* * *

Ruth ran from her back door toward the alleyway behind her house, and then on to the street. She was on her way to her meeting place with Adam, because Ros said he would be waiting there.

_I never apologize, by the way._ Ruth supposed that would be the best she would get. She had asked Ros, "But if you did?" and Ros had simply told her, "Four hours, Cinderella, then you turn into a pumpkin." They had exchanged coats, and now it was Ros that stood in the window, parting the curtains slightly so that the surveillance team in the van could see her.

And Ruth was free. She caught up with Adam just as Zaf was handing off an envelope to him. Adam pulled some photos out of the envelope. Ruth looked over and asked, "What are those?"

"Zaf's contact at the Russian Embassy passed them on."

"They look like satellite photos." Ruth squinted at them, trying to make out what they were. "It's Cotterdam the night of the fire."

Suddenly Adam stopped. "Oh, my God."

Ruth looked more closely, to see what he had seen. "What? What is it?"

Adam handed her one of the photos. "There." Taken from above, it looked at first to Ruth like seven smudges, dark spots next to the top of a bus. She strained to understand what she was seeing, "There what?" Then Ruth saw them, and she froze. "Seven people have been removed from the prison."

Adam looked at the time stamp on the photo. "It's two hours before the fire." He shook his head. "This isn't Acts of Truth. We've been looking in the wrong direction."

Ruth studied the photo. "Well, who removed them?" And then it came to her. She looked up at Adam, distressed. "The intelligence officers."

"Well, who else could have pulled it off?" Adam looked at her. "It explains the Special Branch rushed report, the attempted cover up, even framing you."

Adam started walking out of the square, and Ruth followed. It was all becoming very clear to her. "They removed them. They faked their deaths."

"They become the living dead. No one ever hears from them again."

Ruth looked over at Adam, frowning, "What, meaning we can do what we like with them? Adam, they're being tortured. That's what this is about."

"We have to find that drop. Maudsley might have the only evidence that can stop them." Adam stopped and looked at her. "So how do we find it?"

Ruth looked at the pavement, her face a mask of concentration. "I don't think it was at the tube station, and I didn't find anything on his body." She looked up at Adam. "We need to stay away from CCTV. You have your car?"

"Yes."

Ruth sighed. "I don't know why, but I want to go back to his house."

Adam shook his head, "No, there's Special Branch swarming all over the place by now. We'd never get in."

"Not in, Adam. I just want to go there ... to ... to be close to where he lived." Ruth shrugged. "I can't explain it." Finally, she exhaled and gave in. "He's in my head somehow."

Adam smiled at her. "Well, as I don't have a better suggestion," He took her arm and started walking. "Maudsley's house it is. But we'll have to stay out of sight."

* * *

Harry had got the call when he was just about to force the issue. His patience had worn thin from lack of sleep, worry, and having read the same bloody file nearly ten times with no recall of it. He really couldn't remember a time when he had been this disjointed. Always before, he could separate his feelings into boxes, compartmentalising. Put this box off to the side, and work on the one at hand.

_No, not always. Not with Catherine_. Yes, this was like that. A woman in danger. A woman he loved. One he felt he should have taken better care with, should have protected. But with Ruth it was even deeper, more complex. She was already a part of his future, had become so tied up in it that he was having trouble imagining himself without her. That thought simultaneously elated and horrified Harry. The box that held his heart revelled in what another part of him would call weakness.

His instinct regarding Mace, which he didn't currently trust, was of the bull-in-the-china-shop variety. Harry had certainly seen enough warning looks from those around him to know that he should keep that one well under wraps. So he sat at his desk rearranging pencils, and going quietly mad.

And just when he thought he couldn't sit for another minute, his desk phone had rung. It was Oliver.

"It's time to talk."

"I thought we were talking."

"No. Talk properly. Come for lunch." Oliver took a dramatic pause. "Without your disciples."

So Oliver wanted to talk. And Harry knew just exactly what he wanted to talk about. Oliver was coming in for the kill, ready to make the ultimate offer. _Join my team_.

And Harry had absolutely no idea how he would respond. All he could hope was that Adam and Ruth would find what they were looking for before he had to answer.

Harry pressed a button on his mobile. "Adam. Any progress?"

Adam sounded like he was walking. "Not with the drop, but we've managed to get some satellite photos, Harry." Adam paused for a moment, then continued. "They were removed. The seven. Two hours before the fire. They may still be alive."

Harry dropped his head into his hands, sighing. "Oh, Christ, so that's what it is. They remove them, they can do anything. This is about torture."

Adam was still walking. Harry couldn't hold back the question, but at least he tried to keep his voice light. "Ruth is with you?"

Adam smiled despite himself as he answered, "Yes, Harry."

Harry lowered his voice, "Use Sunstrike if you need to, Adam. Ruth knows about it."

"Ah, yes. Okay, Harry, thanks." It sounded as if Adam was crossing a busy street. "We're on our way to my car. I'll let you know as soon as we know anything else."

"Good. I'm meeting Mace for lunch. I would be grateful to hear from you before then."

"We'll do our best."

Harry clicked off his mobile and looked at his watch. Eleven. The actor's nightmare again. Standing on a stage, everyone waiting for you to open your mouth, and you haven't a clue what you're going to say.


	11. Chapter 11

**CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE**

* * *

Oliver was already seated when Harry walked into the large dining room. With his jacket off, which was puzzling to Harry, until Mace stood to greet him.

"Harry." Oliver stretched out his hand.

"Oliver." Harry shook it.

"Take your jacket off."

_So it's to be cloak and dagger, is it? _Harry looked at Oliver incredulously. "Oh for goodness sake."

"Your jacket, Harry, you could be wearing a wire."

Not one other gentleman in the club was without a jacket. "Is it allowed?" Harry asked, looking around.

Oliver loved this kind of question, as it gave him permission to act self-important. "They'll make an exception." Harry handed his jacket to the waiter and got a ticket in return. Mace seated himself. "Good. Now we can talk."

Harry sat across from Mace and willed himself into tranquillity. In fact, the more angry he became, the more outward calm he showed. He knew he was in the weaker position, and as a result of that, Harry resolved to simply wait and see what Oliver had to say. After water was poured and the waiter had taken their orders, Oliver took a deep breath and began talking.

"We can't do things the old way, Harry. You know that. We play by the book, and what? Do you think anybody else does? Look at the Americans."

"Oh, please. Don't start talking about the Americans." The last thing Harry wanted to listen to right now was a lecture on international intelligence practices from Oliver Mace.

"Everybody wants you to come on the inside of the circle. Join us." So there it was. The offer. Oliver hadn't wasted any time.

Before thinking, Harry said, "You _must_ be joking." He had almost laughed. Mace was offering it like it was some kind of bloody prize. As if Harry had been accepted into a marvellously exclusive club.

Harry had used a sardonic tone that Mace obviously didn't appreciate. "Now, you may doubt our methods, but see if this persuades you. The planned attack from Acts of Truth? A major sports stadium. Several devices capable of inflicting mass murder."

Mace paused for dramatic effect, but Harry was unimpressed, so he continued, "What? Would you have preferred that we had never found out? Two thousand odd lives for a little discomfort?"

"Discomfort?" Harry's eyes went wide at the euphemism. _Let's try it on you, Oliver, and see how comfortable you are_. "Fifty thousand volts through your body, discomfort? Or is it dogs, Oliver? Is that your preferred method? Alsatians biting at men's genitals?" Harry spoke with all the sarcasm he was feeling. "What _is_ it that gets them talking?"

Mace at least looked slightly abashed. "I'm not saying that it's ideal, but what else can we do? Sit back and let this country take hit after hit?"

"We find civilized ways, as we have before." Harry knew he was stalling. He had no hope of changing Oliver's mind. He simply didn't have an answer yet.

"Harry, you know as well as I do we were torturing people in Kensington during the second World War."

All Harry could think about was Ruth. What he could possibly say that would keep her from prison. This philosophical discussion was grating on Harry's last nerve, so he needed simply to ask the question. "So what is my choice? Join in this new nightmare? Or watch Ruth be thrown to the lions?"

Mace took a deep breath and gave what he thought of as a welcoming smile. Harry would have described it in another way entirely, as openly predatory. "Think of it as an invitation. An opportunity."

And then Mace jauntily added the bit that nearly put Harry over the edge. "Save Ruth and join a club." It took every bit of self-control Harry had not to put his butter knife directly into Oliver Mace's black heart.

* * *

Adam had been right. Maudsley's building was surrounded by Special Branch, and in added measure by countless plods. Ruth and Adam had moved very carefully around it so as not to be seen. Ruth didn't know what she was looking for, but she still felt there was something here that she had missed.

"One more time, Adam," she said to him, as he glanced at his watch again. Ruth knew that time was slipping by, but she couldn't shake the feeling that it was here.

Adam had gotten binoculars from the car, and was using them to move up and down the building. Finally, he handed them to Ruth. She scanned upwards, and was stopped by some magnificent ruby-red flowers in a window-box. Just above was a piece of paper, about the size of regular copy paper, attached to the side of the building. It had what looked to be a black-and-white drawing on it.

Ruth gasped. "Offa! Adam, there's a picture of Offa in the window. I can't believe I didn't see that before." Ruth was visibly excited. Adam had no idea what she was talking about, but she was walking now, quickly, and Adam followed her, asking the question, "And he is?"

"An obsession of mine, he was King of Mercia in the 8th century. I wrote a thesis on him, and the site of his palace, known now as Wood Street. That's the real drop Maudsley left for me." Ruth was running now, and Adam was running to keep up with her.

They alternately ran and walked until they found the church, standing as a piece of history in among tall, glass office buildings. Adam went immediately to the wooden door, but it was locked. "Go around the back," he said to Ruth, and she ran, following the line of the building. Adam went the other way, and met her as she came around.

"It could be anywhere," Adam said, his breath coming in quick bursts from their run.

"No, no, not anywhere." Ruth went to the brass plaque that told of the building's history, and began to run her hands under it. "It's here. Here." She put her fingers delicately below the plaque and pulled out a tiny sheet of microfiche. "I've got it, I've got it."

Ruth looked at the small black rectangle with wonder. For over twenty-four hours, she had known something was true. For nearly all of that time, people had told her it wasn't. Now she knew, without a doubt, that Maudsley had been leading her here. As she cradled the tiny plastic sheet in her hands, covering it for safekeeping, Maudsley's voice finally, blessedly, went silent in her head.

"Come on," Adam said, as he led her to the car park. When they reached the car, he said, "There's a microfiche reader under the passenger seat."

Ruth pulled it out and sat, placing the microfiche in the reader. She put her eye to it while Adam watched.

"Okay, minutes for a meeting." She read the words _Internal Briefing Minutes_.

"What's on the agenda?" Adam asked.

"Hang on, I'm just trying to ... _Top Secret. Eyes Only_. Bloody hell. You were right. _Extradition and Special Interrogation Measures_. Otherwise known as torture. Cotterdam's mentioned, there's other places."

"Who's on the guest list?"

"Maudsley. MI6, Special Branch, Military Intelligence, someone from the government." Ruth paused, her voice going softer, "Oh, my God. There's someone here from MI5 too." She looked up at Adam. "Our section."

"Who?"

"It's just a code name. No department." Ruth put her eye back to the reader, "It says, 'Section D – Fox.'" She turned her eyes back up to Adam, questioning.

"That's impossible. Somebody must have put that in to stop us exposing them."

Suddenly, Ruth realised how serious this was. The fact that they had added someone from MI5 to the list of those attending made it seem much more dangerous for her. Mace could say anything now. Ruth looked up at Adam. "What do we do with it?"

"Can't do anything without calling Harry." Adam pressed Harry's number into his mobile, and waited as it rang.

If Adam could have seen, he would have known that Harry's mobile was safely tucked in his jacket, which was securely hung in the cloakroom at Mace's club. In fact, Adam would be the next person to touch Harry's mobile, after the series of events that had already been set in motion.

Finally, Adam clicked off. "Where the hell is he? We can't move with all this surveillance."

Ruth knew she was putting the operation in danger now. And she knew that her usefulness had just expired with the discovery of the drop. "The surveillance won't stop until I'm arrested," she said softly. She couldn't even look at Adam.

"That's it. We'll get you arrested." Ruth was surprised that he said it with so little feeling, but she was ready now. She had found the drop, and Maudsley's voice was gone from her head. But now Adam was walking around the car, "Zaf, you still there? Get a message to Ros." Adam started the car, and made his way to the exit of the garage.

After telling Zaf what he needed, they were out on the road. Adam turned to Ruth, who was still trying to reach Harry. "Anything?"

Ruth shook her head. "No answer." She was starting to get a very uncomfortable feeling about Harry. He always answered his phone, and he would especially answer a call today from her. She knew he was waiting for this information.

"Try him again," Adam said.

"No, still no answer." The uncomfortable feeling was now turning to fear. He had been so angry with Mace, and so vulnerable this morning. _Oh, Harry_. "God, where is he?"

Adam kept his eyes on the road as he spoke to her. "He was supposed to be meeting Mace."

Mace would want it to be on his turf. "Um ... okay, Mace's club." Now Ruth was sure of it. "They'll be there."

* * *

_Doesn't this woman own any hats?_ Ros worked her way through a rack and two closets before she found one that would marginally do. She put the black cap, which looked to be early-Beatles vintage, over her blond hair and pulled up the collar of Ruth's camel coloured coat. Actually, this would be rather fun, Ros thought, leading the plods and Special Branch on a little chase. But she did think it ironic that she was hoping to get arrested for something she thought Ruth had done.

She took a deep breath and opened the front door. Keeping her head down and holding the coat tightly around her, Ros went down the steps and walked quickly to the left. She could hear the sudden flurry of activity around her, and thought she might have even heard a radio. _All units apprehend on sight._

Then a police car, sirens, and a gun trained on her head. Lovely way to start the morning, thought Ros. _Bloody Ruth. Hope you appreciate this._

* * *

It was just occurring to Harry, as he watched Oliver on the phone, that his mobile was in his jacket. That Ruth and Adam may be trying to reach him. That something might be wrong. He had been so taken aback when Oliver asked him to remove his jacket, that he had let it go without retrieving his phone.

And as Harry watched Mace listen, there was a look of triumph that was beginning to spread over Oliver's face. Very subtle, but triumph nonetheless. A look that said he had won. And Harry realised he was flying blind.

"Good." Oliver put the phone on the silver tray proffered by the waiter. "Thank you." Oliver took a long pause, but with his eyes firmly on Harry. Finally, Harry raised his eyebrows in a question, and Mace told him. "Ruth's been arrested trying to escape. She's been charged with murder. Twelve years. Ten, if she's lucky."

There it was. The kick to the gut, delivered by Mace himself, smug, superior, and holding all the cards. Something had gone terribly wrong. Somehow, Ruth and Adam had been found, and Harry watched as one by one every option disappeared. Now Harry was stalling for time, his mind racing, needing somehow to re-deal the hand.

Harry's voice was low, and seemed calm, measured. Inside he was smouldering, the heat rising to dangerous levels. As he spoke, he was juggling his anger and a frantic search for a solution. "Were you so afraid of being passed over, Oliver? I thought you were braver than that." And then, blessedly, an idea came to him. The only way to save Ruth was to put someone in her place in that jail cell. Himself.

"Oh, Harry, this character deconstruction is all very interesting, but you still haven't answered my question."

Harry began setting it up, slowly. As if he were working it through, and Oliver just happened to be listening. He wanted to sound rather mad, actually. The more mad, the better. So he fairly growled his thoughts, all the while outwardly placid, serene.

"What if I play neither strategy? What if I say, Ruth did push Maudsley, but I asked her to do it? What if the rogue officer is me?"

The effect was just what Harry wanted. Oliver was looking slightly worried. "It doesn't add up."

Harry added a vaguely dreamlike quality to his voice now, unsettling Mace even further. "Doesn't it? Ruth would get a slapped wrist, but that's all because she was only following orders. But me. A rogue agent at my grade? Wait till the press hear."

Mace now looked downright nervous. "Don't be so bloody stupid."

Harry was almost whispering now. Menacing but calm. A frightening combination, and Harry could see that Oliver was feeling it. "All I need to do is get the waiter to call the police. Make enough fuss as I go down. Smash a few tables as I tell my tale. There must be three or more journalists within shouting distance of this building. I left my real name at reception. Try silencing that."

Oliver Mace stared across the table at him, thinking that Harry Pearce was either a lunatic or a genius. He thought he knew which he would prefer, but either way, he realised that he now had the possibility of losing, and that thought had not been a part of his plans for quite some time. He had to admit he hadn't bargained on Harry loving Ruth to _quite_ this extent.

In Oliver's handbook was the doctrine: when in doubt, stare. He knew that people liked to fill a long silence, and they usually filled it with something that hurt them. He had an irksome suspicion that in Harry, however, he may have met his match. So, without a clear thought in his head, he stared. And added a smirk for good measure, trying to put the ball firmly in Harry's court.

Oliver knew that Harry didn't often smile. Actually, as he sat across the table from him, Oliver was trying to remember the last time he had seen Harry really smile. But now he was smiling, an enormous smile by Harry standards, and yes, he had even let a laugh escape. Not a mirthful laugh, mind you, but an ironic, derisive laugh that put a bit of a chill down Oliver's neck.

"You don't think I will, do you?" Harry picked up Mace's cigar, the lit end toward Oliver, glowing red. "You don't think I've got it in me." Slowly, Harry lowered the bright end toward Mace's hand.

Mace kept his eyes on Harry's, refusing to flinch, despite a growing concern for Harry's sanity. "Frankly, no." But as he felt the heat from the cigar come dangerously close to his hand, he hit it away and on to the floor.

"Can't take the heat." Harry picked up his water glass, and swirled the liquid around before throwing the entire glassful in Oliver's face. "Better cool you down."

Mace sputtered and laughed, as he wiped the water off of his face. Now Harry had gone too far. But he had achieved his aim. Oliver really did think he would do anything now. But Oliver would not give up his advantage. "You need the police to be called. Not simply security to put you out on the street like a drunkard."

_So be it._ "Very well, then the police it is." In one rapid move, Harry smashed the crystal water glass on the side of the table and slashed at Oliver's forearm with the shards remaining on the stem, from top left to bottom right, putting a gash in it from his cufflinks to his elbow. Mace cried out.

Harry thought the amount of blood was actually quite impressive. And although he knew there would be a price to pay, he really did feel _so_ much better.

* * *

Adam drove fast against the curb, just down the street from Mace's club. Zaf came out from a doorway, walking toward them.

"What's happened?" Adam jumped out of the car and ran toward Zaf.

"Harry's been arrested."

"Why?" Adam walked around behind the car to meet Zaf. Ruth was listening, but really, she was looking for Harry. She wanted to see that he was okay.

"He's attacked Mace. Looks like he's taken the rap for Maudsley's murder. He's trying to save Ruth."

_Oh, no, Harry. No. _Ruth turned to Zaf, unbelieving. "Please tell me you're kidding."

Adam looked up toward the club. "Oh my God."

Ruth turned. It was true. There was Harry, flanked by two policemen, in handcuffs, being led to a police car. As he rounded the turn toward the door, Harry looked at her. She knew that he recognized Adam's car, and she knew that he saw her clearly. She was too far away to see his eyes, but on his face, for that split second, she saw surprise, then relief.

Zaf said, "No one's been able to reach him all afternoon."

Ruth watched as they guarded his head and sat him in the back of the car. How could he do this? To his work, to his career? _For her._ She loved him so much, and this was a beautiful, noble gesture, but he couldn't. He just couldn't. Ruth's books didn't do justice to this situation, and she didn't want this sacrifice. She shook her head, watching him. "Stupid, stupid man. I can't believe it." She looked behind her, "Adam?"

Adam, went around to get in his car. "Go back to mine. I'll try to get in to see him."

* * *

He had seen her. Sitting in the front seat of Adam's car. Not arrested. Not in jail. Free. And all Harry could think was that he had been played by Oliver Mace. That Mace had said they had Ruth under arrest just to see what he would do. And Harry had fallen for it. _I'm losing my touch_.

Well, it didn't matter now, did it? Since he had confessed to giving the order for Maudsley's murder, Ruth would be free. She could stop running, and Harry wouldn't see that look in her eyes again. His career was certainly over, but his Ruth would be safe. That was all that had mattered to Harry as he sat across from Mace, and it was all that mattered to him now.

_No, not all._ Harry would not become one of Mace's cronies, he would not become a part of this new world order that Mace condoned. It might be lack of sleep, or perhaps the feeling of having been in a cage since this whole Maudsley business had started, but a part of Harry now felt free. He felt like he had been in prison whilst he was out there, and now in here, he felt free. Harry gave a low chuckle, letting it echo through the cell. Perhaps he had gone slightly mad.

Harry went to the window, such as it was, and looked out on the yard. How would he cope without being Section Head? He thought wearily that perhaps his time in the service might have run its natural course anyway. He remembered the JIC meeting yesterday, and Mace's supercilious voice, _Anyone else support Mr. Pearce's vote of no confidence? I thought not. Shame._ Perhaps he was a dinosaur, holding on to precepts of truth and honour in an intelligence world that didn't value those concepts anymore. How long could he stand alone with his finger in the dyke, really?

As Harry paced slowly around the perimeter of the cell, he suddenly remembered his last conversation with Tom Quinn. Tom had made choices that rendered him unsuitable to continue in the service. And now, so had Harry. After ten years of working with Tom, Harry thought he could imagine what he would say to him if he were standing in this cell now. He thought Tom would be proud of this choice. Proud that Harry had chosen to take the guidance of his very human love for Ruth and his stand for human dignity, rather than blind adherence to the service.

Harry had surprised himself then by saying that he envied Tom. It was true, and it was untrue. One of those grey areas that were so prevalent in this work. Harry knew if he had been in Tom's shoes on that day, he would have felt set adrift, with no compass, no map. Harry had only envied him because he could see that the love of being a spy, the urge to be secret, had left Tom. That would be the only way Tom could bear it, Harry thought as he had said goodbye. _You realise we'll never meet again. Good luck in the real world_.

Harry thought of Tom and Christine. What had that first reunion been like for them? Tom must have gone to her and said those words: _I'm free_. And if that was the case, that he was now free, what had he been for all those years? And what had Harry been for so many more?

But because of Ruth, Harry could see another side to leaving MI5. There seemed to be a certain exhilaration now in the thought of being set adrift, actually. Freedom. To travel where he wanted, to watch the news and not know what the real story was, to use only one passport for the rest of his life. No false names, no false life. To be free to love someone without constantly worrying for their safety. Or worrying what they would do alone if you were suddenly to disappear.

Harry had always hoped that he wouldn't be one of the sad old-timers that could never leave the service and find a life in the public world. In Bath, he had found that he could be fully contented without the 24/7 intrigue and the danger of the Security Services. Only a week-end, to be sure, but Harry had discovered something about himself there. He had felt once that he and the job were virtually indistinguishable, but he had learnt that wasn't true. In Bath, with Ruth.

Sitting back down on the bunk, Harry wondered what she was thinking right now. She had seen him being put in the police car. _Don't do anything stupid, Harry_. He grimaced at the thought of how angry she would be. Ruth, who thought of herself as less important than Harry in the grand scheme of things.

She would think she wasn't worthy of his sacrifice, but he would make her understand that he had no choice. Not just for her, but for his integrity. After all these years in the service, after all the decisions he had regretted, he would not regret this one. It was the right decision.

The keys rattled in the door. Harry realised that the only face he wanted to see right now was hers. He wanted Ruth to walk through that door and put her arms around him, and they would begin now. He would tell her his plan, the one he should have told her years ago. And their future would start now.

Harry looked up quickly. Adam. And Harry knew that this was most definitely not what Adam meant by a level head. Harry looked away just as quickly, preparing himself for the recriminating look that he likely deserved from his senior agent. The door closed behind Adam, and although Adam was controlling himself well, Harry got the look with both barrels.

"Harry."

"We had no option. They had every avenue covered. Ruth would have spent the rest of her life in prison." Harry was glad Adam knew how much he loved Ruth. It made this easier somehow, more comprehensible.

"We found the drop." Harry looked up as Adam continued. "Maudsley's drop. We've got the documents. A secret meeting exposing the whole torture scandal."

Harry stood up. _Thank God, this is the answer_. "Use them. Find a way."

Adam was whispering now, "We can't. Not without implicating you. There's a code name, Fox. Someone from Section D. They put it in as an insurance policy."

_That's good_, Harry thought. _I'm already too far gone. _"Use me!"

"No I can't do that."

"Look, we're caught whichever way we turn!" How could he make Adam understand?

"You'll go to prison for condoning torture."

Harry was frantic. He had a feeling they didn't have much time, and that Adam was concerned for his judgement right now. Harry knew he had seemed erratic and hasty, but this was so much bigger. He was begging with Adam, not only for Ruth's freedom, but for anyone who stood against Oliver Mace's team.

"If you don't stop them, they'll go on and on. You must expose those documents, Adam." They would go on torturing. And they would go on blackmailing Harry. It all had to be stopped.

"You don't seem to understand." Adam wasn't sure Harry had heard him clearly. He would go to prison, and for a long time. "Fox" would assure that. But Adam didn't have a chance to explain, because the guard came through the door again.

"Sir. I'm afraid there's now a murder charge been brought against you, Mr. Pearce." He looked at Adam. "I'm sorry, I'm going to need you to leave, sir."

Harry was desperate now. He saw a long night stretching ahead of him with no way to contact anyone from his team. This was his last chance. He spoke firmly to Adam. "You are still one of my operatives. I want you to expose those documents." Adam was shaking his head and turning away. "Adam! It's an order!"

Adam wheeled around and shouted at him. "You're in police custody under suspicion of murder! That makes your orders null and void!" Adam paused, angry, breathing hard. Love was one thing, but he would not lose the best Section Head he had ever known to it. After all, he had loved Fiona, and where had that got him?

Adam found his control, and now his voice was softer. "I can't do it, Harry." Adam went through the door and it closed loudly behind him, the keys rattling in the lock again. Harry heard their footsteps retreat down the hall until all was silence once more.

Now Harry was alone, his eyes darting, searching for answers, and he saw the choices narrow. Prison for him, or prison for Ruth. He sat back on the bed and put his head in his hands. He wanted nothing so much as to be somewhere, anywhere, with her warm in his arms, both of them safe, hidden.

They would think him truly mad, but he could hold it in no longer. Harry threw back his head and released an animal wail of frustration, anger, agony. When the echo died down and his breathing calmed, he spoke her name softly, whispering it to his heart. _Ruth_.

* * *

**CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO**

* * *

"I've got the answer."

Walking with Zaf and Adam, Ruth had listened in horror as Adam recounted his meeting with Harry. She'd had no idea he was prepared to go this far. First her life was going to be set against the lives of seven men, and Ruth hadn't been able to bear that. She knew now that those men were being tortured, and Harry had added his name to the list of those who would buy her freedom.

All Ruth could think was, _This will not happen._ And she knew how to prevent it.

Adam had seen the look in Harry's eyes. Nothing would sway him if he was prepared to sacrifice himself for Ruth. "He's ready to sell himself down the river, there's nothing we can do."

Ruth looked up at him, "I step back into the fray. It just says someone from Section D, it doesn't say who. So let it be me. I was Fox." Adam was listening now, as Ruth continued, "You discovered that I was at that meeting. You bring the documents to light." They were still walking toward Adam's house, and now what Ruth was saying was starting to fall into place.

Ruth was talking faster, wanting Adam to think it through. "You discredit Harry's confession as someone looking after a friend, I don't know, a _lover_," at this, Ruth looked at Adam, quickly. Adam knew she was giving him permission to use anything he knew to save Harry. Ruth went on, "Say what you like, but I pushed Maudsley, because Mace and the others told me to."

Adam stopped and took her arms, looking her in the eyes. "Wait a minute, Ruth. You're running away with yourself. Do you know what you're doing?"

_Of course I bloody well know what I'm doing._ _Don't they know the stakes here?_ Ruth could hear that she sounded angry, but she would _not_ let Harry do this. "Yeah, I'm making sure we can still expose the torture scandal without Harry being buried with the blame!"

Adam was dumbfounded. He knew now how deep this love went between Harry and Ruth. In the last hour he seen each of them willing to confess to something that would change their lives forever, something they hadn't done. Only for the sake of the other. Only for love. Adam felt that he had been witness to something so powerful, he couldn't quite get his mind around it. He had to ask the question. "What about you?

Ruth stopped, quieted. It was clear to both Adam and Zaf that she hadn't thought of herself at all yet. It had all been for Harry. And although during the last two days Zaf had assumed finally that there was something going on between Harry and Ruth, he knew now that it wasn't ordinary. He looked at her face in the darkness, and saw that it showed a profound love, full of respect. He found himself deeply touched by it, by how heroic Ruth was. He could only hope that someone would feel that way about him someday.

Ruth's voice was suddenly small, scared. They wouldn't let her go to prison, would they? They hadn't let Zoe go to prison. So, if not Chile, then somewhere, with a new name, a new life? Ruth felt the tears begin to form, for her lost self, but it was too soon for that, and she pushed them away. _Not now. Later_. "Something. A life in a different direction." She turned and started walking again, "I don't know. But don't think about that now."

Zaf had to speak up. "Ruth, this is madness. We can't let you do this."

Ruth turned on her heel and spoke to him. "Well, think of a better solution if you can, because I'll tell you how I see it. Harry goes, and what happens to MI5?" Ruth shook her head, feeling such a weariness come over her. Sleepless nights hadn't helped, but she willed herself back. There would be time to sleep later, too. "This is only round one in an ongoing battle. He has to keep fighting this. The authorities in this country cannot be allowed to intimidate and torture."

Now Adam and Zaf thought she might cry, but then they saw the unmistakable look of love come into her eyes. Love for Harry's courage, for his irreplaceable skill and experience, for the job all three of them knew only he could do. "Harry's the only one that can take on that fight. There's no choice, really, is there? If I can save him, then I will."

Adam was seeing the logic of this, but he wanted her to understand the gravity of what she was choosing. "You're admitting to murder. A murder you didn't do." Ruth looked down, unable to meet his eyes, and Adam said, "You don't have to do this."

" Yes I do." Ruth turned away from him and started walking again.

"Ruth!"

"Adam, don't even try to talk me out of it. You know it's right."

He did know, and so did Zaf. It was a short-term solution to get Harry out of jail. He would be furious with them, but that could be dealt with later, too. And then they would turn all of their energies to helping Ruth. It was the way of their work. Get yourself out of the line of fire, and then strategize.

They both knew that Ruth was out of custody, free, and they would keep her that way. She would need to find a new life, a new direction, but there were more immediate concerns. After spending the day trying to clear Ruth, they needed to spend the night framing her.

Zaf could only think, _What a daft bloody job this is_.

* * *

They had gone to Adam's flat to use his computer, creating a photo to incriminate Ruth. She watched as Zaf skilfully placed her in a chair opposite Mace at his club. So fast, and then it was done.

Ruth looked at the photo. "Easy isn't it?" she said to Zaf, "to throw your whole life away?" Adam paced, trying to think of anything, any way they could do this differently. And he tried to imagine how in bloody hell he was going to tell Harry what they had done. He hoped he could convince him, as he had been convinced by Ruth, that this was the only way.

Now it was truly starting to sink in to Ruth, what she was doing. It didn't shake her determination, but she was seeing the finer points of the sacrifice. "Wonder how I'll be remembered?" She shook her head, smiling sadly, her eyes glistening. "Actually, erase that, for I don't wonder. Murderess. Conspirator. Betrayer."

The only other piece of the puzzle was the witness, the woman at the tube station. Looking up at her flat, Zaf told Ruth, "Jo tracked her down. She was on the platform, but there was no way she could have seen what she said she did. She was bought. Bought to give a false witness statement. She was one of the bastards that set you up in the first place."

"Can you ... um ... Can you say that again?" Suddenly, Ruth needed to know that there was someone, anyone, who knew this was a set up. Who would always know that she was innocent of the accusing words that she felt would follow her forever.

Zaf looked at her, thinking how brave she was. He knew this wasn't something she did every day, like the rest of them. She was far out of her element, but she was doing it for all the right reasons. And Zaf knew she was doing it for Harry. "Look, you're going to be fine, OK?"

Ruth knew she had to do it right now, or she would lose her nerve. "Where's the gun?"

Zaf handed her a gun, wrapped in plastic, which she would also need. "Here."

Ruth unwrapped the gun, but couldn't even look at it. She focused her eyes somewhere just below Zaf's collar. "And they're definitely blanks?"

"Definitely." Ruth nodded, breathing hard. She finally managed to look at the gun. When she looked up toward the flat, she saw the woman walking, with groceries, to her front door. Zaf followed her eyes. "Okay, now's your moment."

Ruth didn't hesitate. She walked as if on remote control, without knowing how her legs were moving. What she was about to do was completely against her nature, and she felt her hands shaking as she went up in the lift. She closed her eyes and spoke softly, "Harry, please help me. Help me do this."

And it suddenly came to her that she needed to find a way to separate herself from this, from this thing she had to do. Ruth remembered back a long time ago, to another time she had pretended to be someone she was not, and by the time the lift doors opened, she had steel in her eyes, just as she'd seen Harry do. One last check, and she was ready.

Ruth walked down the outside corridor, and directly through the open door. She found the blonde woman in the hall and put the plastic bag over her head, pulling tightly, but not tightly enough to completely cut off her air. The woman was screaming, now, and Ruth had to scream too, to be heard. She knew the woman needed to see her face, clearly, in order to be able to identify her, so Ruth turned her around until their faces were right next to each other.

"Shut up! Shut up! Look at me!" Ruth held the gun directly in front of the woman's face, her finger on the trigger. "No talking to anyone again, I will kill you. You understand?" The woman was struggling now, terrified. "Listen, you have no idea what you've got yourself into." Ruth pushed the woman away from her and ran out, leaving the bag round her head.

She met Zaf on the landing. He was on with Jo, who was listening in on police calls. "Yeah, there she goes, called round to the police." Zaf turned and looked at Ruth, whose steel was now giving way to tears. "You were brilliant."

"Lady Macbeth. Sixth Form play."

They got to Zaf's car and Ruth broke down. He let her cry while he drove, feeling helpless. Finally, out of danger, he pulled over and she leant her head on his shoulder until she stopped crying. Zaf simply patted her and told her it would all be all right. Neither of them really believed it, but it felt good to hear nonetheless.

Zaf's mobile buzzed once. Ruth sat back up, wiping her eyes, now that the tears had stopped. Zaf opened his phone and read the message: SUNSTRIKE NOW.

Zaf held his phone open for Ruth to read. He raised his eyebrows in a question. She smiled sadly and nodded. "I'll tell you how to get there," she said, and began to give him directions.

* * *

Ruth had hoped he would come. She knew he wouldn't, but she didn't seem able to stop herself from hoping. She knew he was in jail, and that things couldn't change that quickly, but somehow every car that drove by was his, every creak of the old building was him stepping through the door. She ached for him, but continued to tell herself she had better get used to that feeling.

The light was finally coming in the grimy windows, just a haze of pale orange as the sun rose. Ruth pulled the covers around her to fight off the chill, and walked over to peer through the glass. There was one corner that she had cleaned, and she angled herself to look through it so that she couldn't be seen, should someone be looking.

She could just see the Thames, black in the shadow of the buildings where it was still night. Ruth closed her eyes and she was back on the bench after their first lunch in Henley-on-Thames, asking Harry if she had shocked him. So long ago, as they had watched the two swans glide by. Would she have done anything different, if she had known? She didn't think she would. The days seemed to have lined up since then as if they were planned, destined somehow, and she and Harry were simply walking across them in the only way they could.

She knew Harry had spent a lonely night too, in a jail cell. If only they had discovered how to meet in their dreams, as Harry had asked her that night at Havensworth. They could have travelled to Bath, after flying over the city and all its sadness, and met there on the grass, under the tree, and talked.

Ruth thought that idea would make her cry, but her tears seemed simply to have vanished. She felt detached somehow, as if she stood off to the side and watched herself. The high drama of last night, her performance as Lady Macbeth, was truly surreal, and she couldn't even remember how the gun felt in her hand. But she could still remember so clearly how Harry's lips felt on hers yesterday morning, as if it was the only real thing she had ever done.

Ruth padded back to the bed and laid down. Not bad accommodations, but lacking in the amenities, she thought. It was basically a warehouse with a bed in it, sink and loo, not terribly clean, but not horrible. It had some tea and dry cakes, a hot plate and old-fashioned teakettle, sugar, the staples. The linens were clean, if a bit musty after being packed in plastic for so long. And there was a comfort in knowing it was Harry's place, as if everything she touched here had a sliver of him in it. That was something to Ruth. She found she was so hungry for him.

Zaf had left early in the morning after he'd settled her in, as he needed to communicate with Adam and didn't want to inadvertently lead anyone here. So Ruth had spent the night alone, in an almost abandoned building, her life a shambles, and the man she loved in jail. Needless to say, her sleep had been fitful.

Before her house was overrun with plods, Zaf was going to try to get her some things. She knew Phoebe and Fidget would lay as low as they needed to, and he would put out a large bowl of food for them so they wouldn't starve.

First thing after that, Zaf had said he would get the new evidence into the hands of one of his contacts, and Harry would be released.

It was as if a large wheel were turning, like the Eye far in the distance, and it was determining her future. Harry was on the wheel, and Maudsley, Mace, Adam, Zaf, Ros, everyone but herself. She had done all she could now, and from here she would simply be swept along. She would go where they told her, be who they told her to be. As long as Harry was safe, she nearly didn't care anymore.

Zaf had left her saying what he should. "We're going to figure this out Ruth. We're going to clear you and clear Harry. It just might take time." Sweet Zaf. He knew as well as she did that there really was no way to do that. They had set it up that way. But Ruth knew that telling the truth in situations such as this one was highly overrated. She would have enough of the truth when they handed her a new passport.

Zaf had taken her mobile. That was smart, Ruth thought. Because right now she would be listening to Harry's message again. And again. And the thought occurred to her that his message would be erased, along with everything else. She would have to make do with the recording in her head. And, for as long as it took, she would have to make do with the memories of the last few weeks.

And for the first time, Ruth really understood how precious memories must be to a field agent under deep cover. No one can take them from you. Ruth closed her eyes and saw Harry right there in front of her. No one else could see that. No matter where she would go, or who she was to be, he would always be there with her.

* * *

"Please tell me you've got all this worked out." Harry walked beside Adam down the jail corridor. He had just been given his personal items, and they were on their way out to the car.

"Let me buy you a cup of coffee, Harry," Adam said. "It's worked out, but I'm not sure you're going to like it."

They sat on a bench high on Primrose Hill in Regent's Park, where Adam had met a contact once. It was the safest place he could think of. The morning sun was just beginning its path up the sky, and the steam from their coffee made lazy circles above the cups as they sipped. Harry had slept intermittently in his cell, due to exhaustion, but he didn't feel particularly rested. He had agreed to wait until they reached their destination to hear what Adam had to say, but he was getting very impatient.

Adam had taken as many twists and turns as he needed to assure that no one had followed them. They brought no mobiles, nothing that could be tracked. And Adam had given in on something that normally would be out of the question, because he felt it was deserved. He stood and turned around, nodding his head to the trees behind them. Zaf stepped out with Ruth.

Harry had looked up when Adam stood, and now he stood and followed his eyes. She was walking toward him, her head tilted, her eyes full of the tears that now would come. Without a care for who saw them, Harry and Ruth walked into each other's arms, and stood together, the light breeze ruffling their hair, their hearts finally calming after the long, aching night apart.

Harry pulled away and moved his hands up to the sides of her face. He bent to kiss her, tenderly, and Zaf and Adam turned away. Not because they were embarrassed, or felt any inappropriateness, but because it was the most intimate moment either of them could remember seeing. The fact that it involved two people they both knew well and cared about made it very personal. They walked back to the bench, out of earshot, and waited.

Ruth felt stronger already, with his lips on hers. Their warmth, as if life itself were held there, contrasting with the cool air around them. Harry moved his arms around her, and Ruth felt even if her legs were to go out from under her, which they seemed now threatening to do, she wouldn't fall. He would hold her upright against him.

She put her arms around his neck and pulled even closer, and now, inexplicably, she started to smile against his lips. And then almost laughing as she whispered, "God, Harry, this feels so good. I didn't think I'd feel this good ever again."

He pulled away and looked at her, his eyes full, and shook his head in mock exasperation. "What have you _done_?" The Special Branch officer at the jail had told him Ruth was Fox, and that they were searching for her now. "Why, Ruth?"

She shrugged slightly and touched his cheek. "I did the only thing I could do, Harry. I didn't have a choice. You needed to keep fighting. Otherwise, what was it all about?"

Harry exhaled and explored her eyes. "And now what? Exile?" Harry could hardly say the word. "I was willing to do what I needed to keep you safe."

She leant up and kissed him. "This way we'll both be safe. Just in different places. And not forever. Just until all this dies down." She was feeling so much stronger now, here with him. She had meant just to assure him that she was doing fine, but now it was actually beginning to sound to Ruth as if she could do all the things she was saying.

"We were never going to be free, Harry. Not with Mace knowing about us. I couldn't bear it, the thought of you having us held over you." Ruth reached her hand up and smoothed his hair in the wind, "This will be better in the long run, really."

She was trying very hard to be brave, and he could see that, so he decided to be brave with her. Harry asked simply, "How long do we have?"

Ruth looked down at his collar. "Tomorrow morning. But I don't want you to see me off, because it will be too hard for both of us. Today all of my papers are being put together, and then," She looked up at him, her eyes shining, and full of love, "Tonight you and I will have together at the safe house, if you want to."

Harry looked at her, smiling sadly. "If I want to." He kissed her, and she felt his lips trembling slightly, before he pulled away and said in a wounded voice next to her ear, "If I want to. Yes, Ruth, I want to."

Ruth felt herself slipping into tears again, so she breathed deeply against his chest. "And tomorrow morning, you will identify my body." He pulled away sharply, as she knew he would, and it allowed her to collect herself. "Malcolm is calling in a favour at the mortuary." To his wide eyes, she said, "Ruth Elizabeth Evershed needs to die, Harry, or they'll never leave me alone."

Harry held her eyes with his, and realised finally, absolutely, that this was happening. He had found her, he loved her, and he was losing her. He shook his head, "How is this possible, Ruth? We just found each other."

Now she held his face firmly between her hands. "And we will find each other again, Harry." Ruth took his right hand and tenderly removed the leather glove. When it was bare, she laid it on her necklace, on the charms. "We are always together here, Harry. Always. No matter where we happen to be. And, in time, I will come back."

Ruth leant up and kissed him. "I love you, Harry Pearce, and always, always will." She smiled at him sadly. "And you love me, whatever my name ends up being. It doesn't matter. Don't you see? Nothing can touch that."

Harry kissed her now, with his whole being. And although he was trying to send her all the love he felt, it seemed his heart kept filling up again with more. They stood that way for a long time, lost in that kiss, until they managed to pull away from each other and walk, arm in arm, up the hill to the bench, and to Adam and Zaf.

* * *

**CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE**

* * *

Harry was on his third hour of travel, and frankly, he was exhausted. It was a stark reminder of the number of years he had been behind a desk, and how much his patience had ebbed over those years. And his need for sleep, which he calculated at about 7 hours over the last three days, was threatening to overtake him in the boredom of trying to lose any tails that might be out there.

_But, oh, how I want to see her. _

Adam and Zaf were monitoring, and he would be stopped before he went to the safe house if there was any danger to Ruth. So far, all the signals were at go. The paradox, of course, was that he would be the one person Mace would have followed. In any other circumstance, a less involved agent would be sent to this meeting, but that just wouldn't work, now would it? Harry smiled to himself. _No, not for this meeting._

Every time Harry reached a checkpoint, he dreaded looking at it in fear that he would be turned back. He was moving toward the last one now, and his heart was pounding. If the sign in the shop said, "Open" he would go on. If it was turned to "Closed," he was supposed to stop and go back to the Grid. They would try again later, and he would have fewer hours with Ruth, if any at all.

Harry turned the corner and might have shouted if he'd had more energy. "Open." And Harry knew he would see her, he would be standing in front of her, in only ten minutes more. Then again, after the exertions of the last three hours, he might just fall into her arms and be of no use to her whatsoever. Harry smiled again. _Fat bloody chance_. He could be at death's door tonight and still want her.

He remembered her again on the hilltop, so beautiful, so brave. And the reports he'd gotten from Adam and Zaf. An excellent field agent, both had said. Zaf said she had threatened that woman with a gun, and done it brilliantly. Why had he been so surprised when he'd heard that? She'd done everything brilliantly since the day she arrived on the Grid. He was sorry he was losing her at Five, obviously for more and profoundly deeper reasons than he could possibly count, but the loss of a good agent was one of them.

Now Harry knew who she would be and where she would be. It wasn't ideal, but it was the best they could put together in the short time they had. Harry, Zaf and Adam had strategised it all, and no one else, save Malcolm, was allowed into the circle. Of course, Jo and Ros had asked about Ruth, and had watched with great interest through the windows to Harry's office . But Harry was absolute in his belief that this should stay on a need-to-know basis. He wasn't taking any chances.

Harry looked up to the half moon. How long would it be before she could come back to England? How many times would he see the moon wax and wane before he held her here again? He pushed the thought from his mind. They would get through this one day at a time.

And when he thought about the past, Harry realised that the years of his life had already gone by so quickly that he almost couldn't count them. These would only be days, weeks, months at the outside. But not years. He couldn't bear it if it were years. If it stretched to a year, he would go to her, the Service be damned.

Harry turned another corner and saw the tube station. As he found his seat on the train, he put his hand protectively over the inside pocket of his jacket. Ruth's papers. Harry thought, smiling, that he was already in love with another woman, and he held her here. He had spent the day with her, and knew she had Ruth's angelic face, her incisive mind, and her sweet smile.

And Harry thought again, as he had been thinking all day, how personal this was. He had spent his years in the Service deciding on legends for himself and others, and the primary focus had always been the operation. Today he had wondered, would she like it, would she be happy, are these good people she will be with? And all day long, Harry's heart had been breaking, slowly, relentlessly, as he imagined Ruth there, and him here.

Others would have the benefit of her company, and he would be denied it. Harry had to close his eyes against the pain that came each time he thought about it. He was asking her to immerse herself in being another person, and he knew all too well where that could lead. He knew Ruth loved him now, but in months? When the loneliness and anger and recrimination started, when the feeling of abandonment and bitterness took over?

At times today he had imagined creating his own legend to go with her. It had kept him sane. And he knew he was tired, drained and grasping, but he had also felt a desperate need to extract some promise, some pact together that they would start again, no matter what happened. That there could be no chance of losing each other over miles and time. And he knew in his logical mind that a promise like that didn't exist.

As he watched through the darkness of the train window, Harry knew how weakened he was by the events of the last few weeks, the emotional roller coaster of dizzying highs and abysmal lows, not to mention lack of sleep. _But how I love her_, he thought, aching, in a way he knew he'd never loved any other woman in his life.

What was that horrible, cloying phrase that had been so overused? If you love something, let it go? God help him, it made sense to Harry now. He was releasing her, and hoping that the love they had today would bring her back sometime in the future. And as he thought about that, another small fracture made its way across his heart.

The train stopped, and Harry got out. He walked up the steps, turned right, walked two more blocks, and finally, he was there. He stepped into the lift, pushed the number four, and he felt his heart beating soundly in his chest. _One minute more_.

She opened the door, and her face became radiant. Just from the sight of him. And Harry felt again like the luckiest man on Earth. "Rest for a road-weary traveller, Miss?"

She pulled him inside and looked both ways down the hallway. "Oh, much more than that," was all she said, as the door closed behind Harry.

* * *

Zaf had taken good care of them. There was Chinese to warm in the small microwave, and two good bottles of white burgundy. An overnight bag for Harry. Ruth's bag, the one she had taken to Bath, had arrived with fresh clothes and everything she would need for a journey. She still had no idea what her legend would be or where she was going, but she would find out from Harry tonight.

There were emergency candles in the cupboards, and Ruth had managed to set up a slight air of romance with them on small plates, scattered throughout the room. The bed was flanked by tall metal shelves, and she had simply thrown extra linens over them to make walls of a sort. Although she and Harry would be alone, it gave the sense of a bedroom and privacy in the soft light from the candles.

Harry looked so tired, and no wonder. He'd probably been walking for hours, getting here. Ruth felt a sudden tightness in her heart, looking at him in the dim light of the room. He had gotten as little sleep as she had in the last few days, probably less. And now it was nearly ten, and they were just starting the last night they would have together for some time.

_Some time_. How long? If Ruth could have willed herself into an altered state, a temporary sleep, until that time was up, she would gladly have done it. To simply close her eyes with Harry next to her, and wake up in the same place. She felt she would give up those weeks or months, or even years if need be. The idea of separating from Harry now made her feel as if this were the night before some horrific medical procedure, where limbs would be taken, and she must value them for one final time before giving them up completely.

But he was here now. Her Harry. And the gratitude she felt at touching him, seeing his face, was as if she'd already been away. She put her arms around his neck and pulled her body tightly to his. Harry sighed, and gave a soft hum of contentment against her. He stayed there, just breathing, and finally said, "You calm me, Ruth. It's like I step out of the world and into another, a more peaceful one, when you hold me like this."

He pulled away and looked at her with desperately sad eyes. "I don't know what I'll do without you, Ruth. I don't even know where to begin."

Ruth's hand went to his face, and she kissed him, holding there. Then she moved her lips to his cheek and whispered, "I described it to myself yesterday as feeling like home, being in your arms." She pulled away and gazed into his eyes. "And we have this, Harry. The present. Now." She brushed his lips with hers, and then continued, "I want to store up memories, so that wherever I am, I can pull them out and look at them, like diamonds. I'm trying very hard not to be sad."

"Then you're braver than I am." Harry ran a thumb across her cheek. "I have to warn you, I'm going on very little sleep, and I'm feeling a dangerous combination of melancholy and anger about you leaving tomorrow. I've thought all day of just coming with you."

Ruth lowered her eyes, and he could see how close she was to tears. "I've thought all day of asking you to." She looked up to meet his eyes, and he saw a slight glint of iron there, along with the tears. "But I won't, Harry. Neither one of us could live with that." Now a tear did slip down her cheek, and he wiped it away.

Harry pulled her close to him. "Christ, how can I lose you just as I found you? I don't know how long this will be, Ruth. I'll get you back here as soon as I possibly can, but only if you're no longer in danger." His arms tightened around her. "I don't know when that will be."

"I know that, Harry, and I started feeling very sorry for myself today. I sat here thinking about how bloody unfair this was, how tragic. And then I thought about all the people who are separated by war, and prison, and," she pulled away and looked at him, "and, death, Harry. What about Mik Maudsley's widow? How is she tonight? She'll _never_ see him again. At least I'll know that you're here, and that I have the chance to hold you someday. And you'll know that I am ... where, Harry? Where am I going? How far away from you?" Ruth's eyes searched his.

"Close, Ruth. I made sure of that. In France. Paris."

Her relief was visible, as she exhaled through her lips. She had imagined North or South America, Australia, Africa, somewhere very far away. Ruth leant up and kissed him tenderly, and he felt the slight quiver of gratitude on her lips. She said quietly, trying to smile, "Oh, Harry, thank you. You'll be just across the water. I'll nearly be able to see you from Paris."

Harry made a soft sound, he was so touched by her. He returned the kiss, and could only think, _Her first thought was of me_. Now his exhaustion seemed to leave him, as his hands moved from her hair to her face, and then down to her neck. He was memorising her with his fingers, the softness of her skin, the sharp contrast of her collarbone to the indentation at the base of her neck. The kiss deepened, and he wanted all of her, to touch her everywhere so that he could remember every part of her body under his hands.

Ruth sighed, and her voice caught in a soft cry. Harry could feel tears, warm between their cheeks as he kissed her. Then he could taste them, salty and hot on his lips. He pulled away, wanting to know if she was all right, but she shook her head and held him closer, murmuring, "No, I want you. Very much."

Harry removed the coat that he was still wearing, and took her hand to lead her to the bed. He saw what she had done with the room, and smiled at her, gently. "Ah, Ruth. What a treasure you are. I'll never see it any other way." The candles painted everything a pale gold, and the folds of the linens on either side of the bed made it look like a lovely Renaissance scene of sorts. Harry could hardly believe it was the same barren warehouse room.

As he brushed a lock of hair from her eyes, Harry thought no room was the same with Ruth in it. They were at the bed now, standing in the dim light, and as they undressed each other, both were reminded of their first night together. And Ruth suddenly felt a need for him to know her as she would be, the person she must now become. So Harry wouldn't only be a part of her past, but also of her future.

She asked him, "What will my name be, Harry? I want you to know me that way." Her intensity increased, as she realised how important this was to her. "I want that person to know you, to have a memory of you. It will make it seem less of a separation. Please."

Harry held her eyes in his gaze for a moment, and he knew it would help him too. A bridge from who they were now. "Sophie," he said. He nuzzled his lips into her hair, and then whispered in her ear, "Sophie Persan." He paused for a moment, letting it hang in the air between them. Then he smiled and looked at her. "I rather like that." He kissed her and then repeated it, but this time, against her neck, and he fairly growled it, "Sophie."

Ruth loved it when Harry spoke like that. Soft, low. It tended to send lovely chills down her neck. She squirmed deliciously in his arms, and spoke softly back to him, "Sophie." She pulled away and found his eyes. "Persan. _Percer,_ in French, to pierce, or _percant_, piercing." The tears had stopped, and now her eyes, still moist, looked iridescent in the candlelight. "You gave me your name, Harry."

Harry simply looked at her, his face open, vulnerable. "Yes, so you won't forget me."

Ruth kept her eyes on him. "Not as long as I live." She finished unbuttoning his shirt, loosened it and slipped it off, letting it fall to the floor. Harry pulled back and began unbuttoning her blouse. He let the blouse fall off of her shoulders , then he moved his lips down, first to the necklace, as he always did, but then lower, to the soft valley between her breasts. "I love you, Ruth."

"Sophie," she corrected him, lightly.

His voice was muffled on her skin, but she could hear a smile in it. "I love both of you."

* * *

Malcolm got the call very late. A perfect match. Same age, same hair colour. Drowned in the Thames, no longer than five hours ago. He thanked his friend and closed his mobile. Malcolm sighed, feeling almost as if he had gotten the call that Ruth _had_ died. Might as well have.

He got up to fix himself a cup of tea. Couldn't sleep now anyway, what with that vision in his head. He'd been so happy for them, and now what? Exile. And the idea of months, maybe years, stretching out in front of them. Of pacing, and short temper, and mooning looks coming from behind that glass. _Poor Harry_, Malcolm thought. _He finally finds love, and away it flies_.

And not just that. Malcolm would miss Ruth, too. Very much. He'd come to depend on her sunny way of finding her way through challenges.

Malcolm shook his head, waiting for the kettle to boil. So bloody little time. He wished better for his two friends. But he consoled himself and smiled just a bit at the thought that the two little boxes were together tonight. He'd gotten that idea firmly stuck in his head at Havensworth, and it refused to leave him. The red one and the green one, blinking away happily.

He sipped his tea and sighed. Ah, well, it was only for a time, after all. If there was one thing he was certain of, it was that those two wouldn't be kept apart for long.

* * *

There was only the flickering light from the candles in the room, and Harry couldn't see her breasts clearly, but he could feel them, warm and smooth under his lips. Ruth held him there, and mixed in with the sorrow of leaving and the joy of being with him now, she thought, _Paris. Only two hours away_. She had begun to hope again. Somehow the idea of being that close was especially comforting to her, as if their tether, the one that kept them close, wouldn't have to be stretched too thin.

Ruth gently moved him up to her mouth, and pressed her lips to his, holding him tightly against her. Harry's lips parted, hungrily now, as he felt his need for her intensify. Ruth's body responded, and her need rose too, her hands roaming his body luxuriously, feeling his smooth chest against her and the warm skin of his shoulders, strong and firm under her fingers.

They pulled themselves into the warmth of the covers. And with the intensity of the bond they felt, they explored each other, alternately tender and passionate, savouring and in need. It was different from Bath, more profound in a way, because they both knew that what they were feeling would have to last them for some indeterminate period of time, into an unknown future.

In the final moment, as the waves overtook Ruth, an emotion welled up in her that she had never felt, at once agonizingly pleasurable and deeply painful, and it wrenched her, astonished, into tears. The tears turned to sobs, and Harry held her, frightened at first that he wouldn't be able to pull her back, yet feeling blessed, privileged to be holding her, so open, so trusting that she would let him see this.

When Ruth did come back, she told him it was love she was feeling, in such quantity and intensity that she had lost herself in it completely. And into that feeling had come the thought that she might never do this again with him, and the tears had come. She told Harry it was all right. "I'm alive, Harry. Completely alive. With you." It was all she could say to explain.

Then she turned to him, and took him to the same place. Harry responded not with tears, but with a connection to Ruth that felt so organic, so permanent, that he felt she could be anywhere in the world, and for the rest of his life he could conjure the length of her body along the contours of his, her heart, her voice, her touch, now a part of him.

And after, they lay whispering to each other, the desire descending, but not the love. Never the love.

Harry had promised himself that no matter how exhausted he was, he wouldn't sleep this night. There would be so many long, lonely nights ahead when he would welcome the oblivion of sleep. But the warmth of Ruth's arms and the release of making love took him, unaware, into it.

Ruth heard him breathing softly, evenly, and she moved slowly away without disturbing him, just as he had two nights ago. And in just the same way, she watched him sleeping, his face at rest, a whisper of a smile on his lips.

Ruth got up and retrieved his white shirt from the floor. She put it on, and wondered if she could keep it to take with her. Holding the collar around her face, she drew in the scent of it. Harry didn't wear cologne, which pleased her, because she loved the subtleness of his soap and shaving cream. And that was what surrounded her now. Ruth wondered how long this exquisite scent would last, if she took the shirt to Paris. Could she wrap it in plastic and only take it out once in a while?

Ruth shook her head at her own thoughts. _Insanity._ That was what awaited her. She looked over at Harry, and she could no longer do without him. She would have enough nights alone to do this. Tonight she wanted him. He'd had nearly a half hour of sleep, and that was all she could give him.

She moved quietly over to the bed and laid herself next to him, feeling his breath on her cheek. Tenderly, so as not to startle him, she put her lips on his. Harry stirred, and she felt his lips respond to hers as he made a soft, contented sound. His arms went round her, and they lay like that, in a gentle, dream-like kiss, just outside the edge of the polar opposites of sleep and passion.

"I need you, Harry," she whispered to him.

He smiled against her lips, his voice sleepy, "I think we'd best wait for a while, Ruth."

Ruth smiled back at him, and said softly, "Not that kind of need, Harry. I want to talk. I don't want to lose this time. Can you stay awake? Or should I not be selfish? Should I let you sleep?"

Now he opened his eyes and looked at her. "Was I sleeping?" He moved up on his elbow, rubbing his eyes. "No, I wasn't going to sleep." Forcing himself up, he sat, fully, and leaned against the wall behind the bed. He exhaled deeply. "I hardly know what day it is."

Ruth sat up and moved herself under his arm, her fingers trailing across his skin. "I know." She paused for a moment, feeling his chest rise and fall. "How calm things will be when this is all over. Maybe as soon as tomorrow night." She felt tears beginning to well up, but pushed them back. _Plenty of time to cry as well_.

Harry felt the shift in her, and held her more closely to him. The moon was high in the sky now, and it shone across the bed, its blue light blending with the reddish-yellow of the candles. Warm and cold colours, both present on their bodies and in their minds. Happiness and loss. Love and need. Tonight and tomorrow.


	12. Chapter 12

**CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR**

* * *

It was nearly one in the morning, and they were just finishing up the Chinese. They'd thought about opening the second bottle of white burgundy, except they were afraid they'd go to sleep. Harry took one last bite and pushed away from the table.

Ruth was swirling the last of her burgundy in her glass, watching the play of light from the candles on the wine. "I've missed the Grid, Harry. Being useful. I remember during the EERIE exercise, I said something to Tom about how pointless it was being an analyst with nothing to analyze." Ruth took a sip. She looked up at him, her eyebrows raised, and tried to smile. "So, tell me, what's going on? What's happened with Cotterdam?"

They both knew how much Ruth would miss her job. Harry wanted to say it would be over soon, and that she could come back, that her desk would always be waiting for her. But he couldn't. They both knew he couldn't. They had committed to the truth with each other, whenever possible, and the truth was that neither of them knew what would happen. It was senseless to try to predict.

Harry reached over to curl his fingers with hers, and gave her a satisfied smile. "Well, Oliver Mace seems to be in a great deal of trouble. We think there'll be an announcement tomorrow. The PM is distancing himself from the whole affair, and we expect the Defence Secretary to resign." He squeezed her hand. "Oh, and they found the seven, Ruth, in Egypt. A lot the worse for wear, but alive. They're being brought back to England to be interrogated properly."

Ruth smiled and sat back in her chair, exhaling. "Well, then."

Harry looked at her with profound love in his eyes. "Yes, well, then. You're a very brave and principled woman." He took a deep breath and smiled softly at her. "I'm proud to know you, Ruth."

Ruth simply smiled back at him, sadly. If this had to happen, it was gratifying that some real good had come of it. Exile in exchange for human dignity and respect. This couldn't happen again anytime soon, too many eyes on the prison system now. The human rights activists would be rabidly aware, and that was also a good thing.

"How long do you think, Harry?" It was the question she'd told herself not to ask, but it just slipped out. She knew the only possible answer was speculation, but she needed to hear it from him.

Harry pursed his lips and shook his head, "Christ, I don't know. You can't imagine how much time I've spent thinking about that very question today." He shrugged his shoulders, "Months, probably. Three, maybe more. You have to really die, Ruth. The world needs to move on from this and think of other things before we can bring you back." Harry knew he was being overly optimistic, but he couldn't help it. Her eyes were so large, so beautiful.

Harry took another sip of wine before he continued. "We need to find someone who will talk about Fox, someone who will come forward and say that Fox never existed. That someone may be Mace, if he's desperate enough. Or, if God forbid, someone from MI5 really was at that meeting, we need to find out who it was."

Looking across the table at her, Harry saw how strong Ruth was, and yet how scared. He couldn't stay so far away from her any longer, so he stood and went to her, pulling her into his arms. He spoke firmly, wanting to convince her. "We've kept everything we need to clear you, Ruth. We have the proof that the photo was doctored, the gun you used to intimidate the witness. We have Zaf and Adam who will testify on your behalf." He held her tightly. "We will clear you. You'll have your life back."

Ruth wanted so much to believe him. To feel there really was a future. Three months in Paris, probably more. She could endure that, as long as she knew she could come back to England. Her beloved England. In this moment, it was more precious to her than she could have imagined. And her beloved Harry. She would come back to him as well.

Ruth gathered her courage. She pulled away from him, and said firmly. "You have my papers? I need to make it real for myself, Harry."

Harry sighed, and walked over to his coat, reaching inside the large breast pocket. He pulled out an envelope and handed it to Ruth. She took it gingerly, as if it was fragile, as if it truly held a life inside it. "You know, Harry, I think I would like another glass of wine, if you don't mind." She moved over to the table and put the envelope in front of her.

Glad to have something to do with his hands, Harry proceeded to uncork the bottle and pour another glass for Ruth, before pouring half a glass for himself. He watched her, silently, as she spread the contents of the envelope out on the table.

The cash she moved aside, but Harry knew it was quite enough to take good care of her until she received her first pay. Ruth looked at the passport for a long time, and he could see her trying to blend the name with the photo, willing them to become one in her mind. She set it aside and looked at a photo of an apartment building on what looked to be a lovely, quiet street. The corners of her mouth turned up slightly, and she gazed at Harry from under her lashes. "Rue du Banquier, Harry?"

He nodded, smiling back at her. "Street of the Banker, yes. A coincidence, really. It was available, it was a short Metro ride from your work, and ..." Harry reached out and took her hand across the table, " ... and it was safe."

Ruth picked up a small brochure for a bookseller, _l'Alcove_. Now the corners of her mouth moved further north, as she broke into the first real smile Harry had seen tonight. A beautiful smile that made her eyes dance, and Harry's heart clenched as he imprinted it on his memory. Ruth shook her head. "I assume this is my place of work? And that its name would be another coincidence?"

Harry smiled too, a real smile. "Inexplicably, yes. The woman who owns the bookshop is someone I met when I was in Paris." Ruth looked up at him, and then took a sip of wine. She kept her eyes on him over the rim of the glass. Harry understood the question as if she had spoken it. "No, not that kind of met, Ruth." She smiled her thank you for the clarification, and Harry went on. "She had fallen in with a very unsavoury group of people, and I managed to save her from prison. She's always been grateful for that kindness."

Ruth looked back at the brochure. "Just down from Victor Hugo's house. Lovely area. And a bookseller's. That's good, Harry." She stared at the paper in her hand for a long time. When she looked back up at him, there were tears in her eyes. Harry knew by the slight quiver of the paper that her hands were shaking. "So, I'm the shopgirl at last."

He could see that she was about to break down, so Harry went quickly to her. He lifted her to her feet and put his arms around her tightly. She started to shudder on his chest and he kissed her head, holding her, speaking softly, soothingly, "Shhhh, Ruth, I know." He could hear her now, her heart broken, and a part of his broke right along with it. "Oh, my Ruth, I'm so sorry, so sorry ... shhhh, now, it will get easier."

"How will I do this, Harry? I never thought my life was much to speak of, but now it's so precious to me, every part of it. And now there's you. I love you so much, Harry, so completely, and I have to go and not look back? How will I bear it?" Her voice was muffled, broken. He could feel the warmth of her tears spreading from his shirt to the skin underneath.

In truth, Harry was in danger of going off the precipice with her. He was so tired, so stripped of courage that he nearly said, _Don't go, stay here, I'll bring you food, and films, and we'll make love every night_. His jaw was so set, his eyes clenched so tightly, that he thought he would explode with wanting to say it, but he pulled himself back and let her cry. In the days to come, in the throes of missing her, he would wish this moment differently, but for now, he stayed strong.

Harry was silent for the long minutes that it took for her to calm. He knew this part of the process intimately. He felt her let go of one thing and embrace another. Felt her reject the denial, the bargaining, that came with the inevitable choice. _This is the only way, my dear Ruth. We've explored it all_. He felt her go still, only a sporadic hiccough, a sniffle, and finally quiet. Through it all, he held her, stroking her hair, infusing her with the enormous love he felt.

And finally, Ruth spoke. "I'm okay now, Harry. I've been holding that back all night. It had to come." She wanted to wipe her face without him seeing her, and reached for a napkin from the table, her head still on his chest. She took two deep breaths, and he felt the tenseness in her body go slack. She reached her arms up around him, and turned to face him. "I don't even want to consider how I look right now, but I want to see your eyes. " She reached a hand up, and let her fingers trail across his mouth. "And your lips." Ruth kissed him, softly, "oh, I will miss these lips."

Harry was still afraid to speak, afraid of what he would say. Ruth, as always, heard it, without the benefit of speech. She didn't want to lose this night, to spend it in tears. And she felt the catharsis of the last few minutes had helped to heal her somewhat. She had grieved for the loss just enough that she felt there was room to breathe now.

Ruth looked at Harry's shirt and touched the cotton, wet with her tears. She thought again about having it, so she looked up at Harry and asked, "Can I take this with me?" To his puzzled look, she said, "Your shirt."

He sensed a difference in her, an easiness that had been missing all night. She had passed a checkpoint of sorts, one he knew well. Acceptance. Not full acceptance, but she was on the path there. He smiled at her. "Well it's certain that you look better in it than I do. But why on Earth would you want my shirt?"

Ruth held his eyes with her own. "To remember you by." Harry's eyes went soft. "My name and now the shirt off my back." He kissed her lightly. "It's yours." Then Harry remembered something, and he looked slightly abashed. "I stole a picture from your house, Ruth. Unbridled kleptomania."

Ruth laughed. "Which one?"

Harry stood up and went to his coat. He reached in the pocket and took out the small frame, grimacing a bit. "Never managed to get this out of my pocket after I unashamedly nicked it."

He handed it to her, and she smiled. "Ah, yes. Holiday last year, just a quick week-end to visit a friend up North." She looked at him with bright eyes. "I love the snow. So clean and fresh." To his look, she said, "Yes, _girl_ friend. Not even a very close one. I really just wanted to see the snow."

Harry looked back at the photo. "You look happy."

"I was happy." Ruth looked at him. "And I loved you even then, by the way. I missed your scowling face. Couldn't wait to get back."

Harry turned to her and pressed his cheek to hers. "Scowling and pacing. However did you manage to fall in love with me?"

"I have no idea, Harry." She kissed him, tasting the sweetness of the wine. Then she pulled away, asking, "Have you a pen?" Harry frowned, but produced one from his coat pocket.

Ruth gently pried the prongs from the frame, and removed the photo. On the back she wrote, simply, "H. I love you. R." She kissed it, put it back in the frame, and handed it to him. "A fair trade, Harry. This for your shirt."

He smiled, and said, "Yes, a fair trade, but I get to see it on you now." He unbuttoned it and slipped it over his arms. He handed it to her as he walked over to get a t-shirt from his bag. When he came back to her, she was just pulling it over her shoulders. He stopped, looking closely at her, and held the shirt back.

Harry frowned. "What's this?" Just above her heart, at the top of her breast, was a bruise, an ugly blotch of purple and red, almost a rectangle, about five centimetres by three. He hadn't seen it earlier in the dim light, but now he looked at it in the bright moonlight, and touched it gently with his fingertips. "Does it hurt?"

Ruth shook her head, and put her hand over his. "No." To his question, she shrugged, and said, "I guess I got a little carried away with the gun last night." She smiled, slightly embarrassed, "You've seen my shooting scores, Harry. Not the best gun handler in the Services."

She looked down at it, removing Harry's hand. "I don't mind it so much, but I just know I'll have to look at this as it goes through all the stages, you know?" Ruth closed her eyes, remembering. "God, Harry, she was so scared. She thought she was going to die. I never thought I would cause another human being to feel that way. Not intentionally. " Ruth put her finger on it again, tracing it. "I suppose until it goes away, I'll have to look at it and remember the horrible thing I did to that woman." She met Harry's eyes again. "Maybe it's my penance."

Harry leant down and kissed the purple mark. His voice was muffled against her skin. "You shouldn't have to do penance for something that came so completely from love, Ruth." He looked up at her. "It's not right."

He picked up the pen from the table. "I want you to remember this instead," he said gently. She felt the pen tip as it tickled its way across her skin. Ruth said, laughing softly, "Harry, _what_ are you doing?" She tried to look, but his head was in the way, so she had to wait until he was finished.

He pulled away. When she looked down, it was no longer the imprint of a gun. It was now a heart. Harry had transformed something ugly into something beautiful, and Ruth kissed him, knowing that she now had a new memory. "Thank you, Harry. Yes. I'll remember this instead."

* * *

The night was moving away from them, and both of them knew it. They wanted to stop time, but there was a faint light in the sky, and it was no longer the moon.

They lay in bed again. Not to make love, although each would have put aside their weariness to do so. They wanted more to have each other's company, to talk, to memorise each other, as if months of conversation needed to fit into this one night.

Ruth was lying with her head on his chest. She loved the sound of his voice, and it had such depth when she lay like this. "Did you ever see 'The Red Shoes,' Harry?"

A low chuckle rumbled through him. "I've heard of it. Classic, yes? I seem to recall it's a female film, Ruth."

Ruth smiled up at him, "Ah, yes, like 'Gold Rush' is for men? How is it I've seen that one a hundred times?"

"You're a more well-rounded person than I am. We already know that. Go on. 'The Red Shoes?'"

"I can't tell you how many times I've seen it. It's about a dancer. She has to choose between love and her dancing, because she's told that she can't do both well." Ruth turned on to her stomach to look at Harry. "She's told that if she diverts her passion into the love of a man, she won't have what's necessary to be a great dancer."

Harry was silent, waiting for the correlation that he knew must follow. Ruth trailed her fingers across his chest absentmindedly. "I wanted to say thank you for what you said about being able to love me and be Section Head. And do both well." Ruth kissed the soft skin of his chest. "I used to watch that film to convince myself that you could never love me, Harry."

He pulled her gently up to him. "I think I've always loved you, Ruth." Harry brushed her lips with his own. "And I don't think it's affected the way I do my job." He frowned slightly, "This week I would have to call an exception. But this has been an exceptional week."

Harry turned sharply to face her, on one elbow, head resting in his hand. "I need to talk to you about this, and you haven't let me yet, Ruth. Will you let me now?" Suddenly, Ruth's heart was hammering. She knew what it was. And no, she couldn't.

Ruth sat up, moving cross-legged on the bed next to him. "I know what you want to say, Harry. And I need you not to say it. Not yet." She laid her hand on his chest. Harry sat up too, and faced her. He wanted to understand. She looked like a trapped animal, so he spoke gently. "Can you tell me why, Ruth?"

"Because it can all change, Harry. Things change." Ruth spoke softly, "I can't bear the thought of you making a ... a ... promise to me that you might not be able to keep."

Harry shook his head, frowning. "Why wouldn't I be able to keep it, Ruth?"

"Well, for one, you might get shot. And for another, you might ... find that ... well ... that it was a mistake to ask too soon." She took his hands in hers. "Harry, how long have we been together, not _wishing_ we were together, but _actually_ together?"

Harry raised his eyebrows, thinking, and she continued, "I'll save you the trouble. Fifteen days. Monday night I showed up on your doorstep, five days to Henley-on-Thames, then the four days at Havensworth, week-end in Bath, Monday was the tube station, and today is Wednesday." She looked at the sky as it lightened. "Well, Thursday. _Fifteen_ days, Harry."

Ruth's eyes were seeking his, earnestly. "What did you say about how long I'd be gone, Harry? Three months? I think we both know it's likely to be more. How many days in three months? Ninety. I know my Maths, Harry. Fifteen into ninety? How can we measure these fifteen days against all that time apart? And what if it's longer? What if it's a year?"

Harry was speechless. How was that possible? A lifetime had passed since she stood shivering on his doorstep. _Fifteen days_. His silence told Ruth that she had made her point.

Her voice was softer now, the barrage of questions over. "I've told myself I'll never doubt you, Harry, or doubt our love." She put her hand on his cheek, and gazed at him with soft eyes. "This isn't doubt. This is being realistic. I don't want you to make a promise from this moment that you will have to keep when you are in another moment. One far in the distance. Where we can't see."

Now Ruth kissed him. "Make it to me then. Ask me when this is all over. When I'm back in your bed at your house. When I'm Ruth again."

Harry felt the prick of tears at the back of his eyes as he felt her moving, inexorably, away from him. She was telling him she had made peace with what she had to do. She was drifting toward Sophie Persan. She had moved into the twilight between reality and legend, and was telling him she couldn't make a promise from where she was now. Harry didn't want to understand, but he did. He had spent his life unable to keep promises to people for that very reason.

Harry took her in his arms, and spoke fervently in her ear, "It will be the same question, Ruth." She held him tightly and whispered back to him, "I want it to be, Harry."

She found his lips with her own, and kissed him. They both knew what time it was. 4:45. Zaf would be here at six to fetch Ruth to take her and wait by the docks. Harry would have to be back on the Grid to receive the phone call they both knew was coming. But they kissed as if they had all the time in the world, because each was afraid it would be their last for a very long time.

And they did make love, tenderly, passionately, for the same reason. And this time, it was Harry's tears that fell, and Ruth who comforted him. He buried his head into her neck and spoke "I love you" into the tiny silver charms, hoping it would echo there forever. And Ruth spoke "I love you" to him, half in her own voice and half in Sophie's. And then, finally, they had to rise and meet the day.

Zaf knocked softly, and waited in the hall. He couldn't imagine the pain they were feeling as they finally said goodbye. He had never seen either of them look this way, but he marvelled at the fact that, at the last, they managed to gaze at each other with only the purest of love in their eyes. No recriminations, no regrets, simply love.

Ruth walked one way with a tear-stained shirt in her bag, and Harry walked the other, holding a picture frame in his pocket. It would have to do for now. That, and their love.

* * *

Birdsong, Ruth thought. Bloody birdsong. Gulls whipped around the docks, looking for breakfast, and behind them, in the trees, more birds. She heard the water lapping softly against the cement break, and brought her coat more firmly around her neck. It was cold and wet, and the wall she leant against was hard. She was turned away from Zaf, and all she could think about was Harry.

Zaf's mobile rung, and he opened it. "Yes? Right. Thanks."

Ruth thought for a moment of asking if it was someone from the Grid, or more to the point, Harry. She wanted to hear his voice again, she told herself, just once more. But she knew that once would become another and another, and she decided not to torture herself. Rip off the plaster, faster is better. She felt the tears coming again, and forced them back. A Parisian apartment was the perfect place to have the cry of a lifetime.

"You awake?" Zaf asked her. They had been sitting here for over an hour, waiting for the call that would tell them when the boat would be arriving. Zaf had just hung up with his contact. He'd booked her passage, but the boat was an unreliable sort, obviously. Just can't get good help smuggling suspected murderers out of the country nowadays, Ruth thought miserably.

She'd been so brave saying goodbye to Harry, and now she wanted only to be back in his arms. But she was grateful to Zaf, and glad he was here with her. And something else, too. _Zaf knew_. It wasn't a secret with him, and that made him more precious to her, made it more real somehow.

"Didn't sleep," she answered. _Yes, and haven't much for four days now_. She thought after the cry, she might sleep for a month.

"No, neither did I." Sweet Zaf, up all night arranging for her escape.

Ruth smiled at him, sadly. "I'll have to remind myself of why exactly I did this for the rest of my life."

Zaf was having trouble expressing how much he had been touched by Ruth and Harry. A selfless love, one that always thought more for the other person. A love that took two people he thought he knew so well into places they had never been, simply because it was asked of them. And as he sat next to Ruth on this cold, grey morning, he was filled with respect for her. He reached over to squeeze her hand, to try to impart some strength. "You know why," Zaf said softly.

Ruth nodded. She did know why. So that Harry could stay and fight. But this waiting was agony. She was in between Ruth and Sophie, and felt a need to come down on one side or the other. "How much longer?"

Zaf looked at his watch. "A few hours now."

"And then?"

"Then it's up to you."

"Yeah." Ruth folded her hands into her coat. Ros' coat, actually. When she got back, she would return it to her, along with a few choice words. _When she got back_. And when would that be? Ruth knew the hardest part of all this was that she had to leave everyone behind. The tears were threatening again, but she felt she needed to say this to Zaf, who had been very good to her.

She turned to him. "If we ever bump into each other again, either here or abroad," Ruth looked at his eyes, but he wouldn't meet hers. Zaf shook his head, and looked forward.

"I know what you're trying to say." He was telling her he wouldn't be able to acknowledge her, but she was still Ruth now, and today, he could still look at her, recognize her. She wanted him to do it now.

"But if we do," she said, insistent.

Now he looked at her, and Ruth felt the warm relief that came with it. "I'll smile," Zaf said.

"Promise."

Zaf could see how important this was to her. "Course." And now he gave her a smile, as he leant closer. "I smile at every pretty woman I pass."

Ruth smiled back, and relaxed again. "Thank you, Zaf." She looked out at the grey of the sky where it met the water. "You've been a ... a .... good friend through all this."

Zaf looked back at her. "I can honestly say it's been a privilege." He looked down at his hands, not quite sure what he wanted to say. "You and Harry." It was the first time he'd spoken it. "Well, it's something I've never seen, Ruth." He smiled again at her. "I can't believe you'll be kept apart for long." He looked out at the water too, suddenly embarrassed that he'd said it.

Ruth put a hand on his arm and squeezed, gently. She felt so much better, and she leant in to him and whispered, "I can't either." She looked affectionately at him, and, unbidden came the thought, _Keep yourself safe, Zaf, until we meet again._

* * *

"Yes."

Harry knew it was coming. He could even imagine the words before he heard them. So, he wondered, why did the words feel as if a flat of bricks had just landed on his stomach?

"Mr. Pearce? We need to you to come to the Morgue, Sir. We believe Ruth Evershed's body has just been found." The man's voice paused, not hearing any reply from Mr. Pearce. "Uh, Sir, she was drowned in the Thames. We need you to identify the body."

"Thank you." Harry thought, in this situation, those two words must be the most incongruous in the English language.

He put the phone over his heart. As if the simple act of severing the connection would make it true. He had left her little more than two hours ago, warm and alive, and that was the picture he brought to his mind as the echo of the man's words died in his ear. He'd kissed her countless times before he could open the door to Zaf and what lay beyond.

But it had all been set in motion now, and there was no turning back. Harry felt as if he, himself, was being swept along in that cold water.

Adam had been watching Harry, along with everyone else on the Grid. They had never seen him look so tired, so empty, as if he sleepwalked. Everyone knew it was to do with Ruth, but of those watching, only Adam and Malcolm knew the full story. As he saw Harry pick up the phone, Adam was putting his coat on, knowing what came next in the script. He walked to Harry's door, and waited.

"They've found her." If Adam didn't know better, he would think that Harry was grieving for Ruth herself. But he knew that the police had found the woman that matched Ruth's description, the one with no home, who in despair or by accident, had thrown herself into the frigid waters sometime last night. The one whose story would never be known. The one who would lie in a grave with Ruth's name on it, and would receive the prayers sent up for Ruth.

"Where?" Adam asked, wanting to be sure everything was going to plan. Harry didn't answer until they were in the car. And then Harry asked Adam where Ruth was waiting, on which of the many docks that could lead her to France.

Adam shook his head. "I can't tell you, Harry. She told me not to."

To which Harry replied, unsmiling, "Are you fond of working for MI5, Adam? Got a call from Six, they want you back."

As they stepped into the sterile room at the Morgue, Harry was assaulted by the pungent smell of formaldehyde. Too many times he had done this, performed this ritual. The last acknowledgment of a human being, saying, "Yes, that's him." Confirming, distilling, recognizing a whole life with those three simple words.

"Dragged from the Thames this morning."

And this woman, whom he did not know. This stranger, who was making it possible for his Ruth to be safe to travel later on a boat to France, to find her way to a new life without the dogs nipping at her heels. Harry was grateful to this woman, but more than that, he was excessively grateful that she was not, in fact, Ruth.

"Yes, that's Ruth."

Just saying the words turned his stomach. It wrenched at him more than he thought possible. He could still feel Ruth's hands on him, her lips on his lips, warm, soft, yielding. And those lips belonging to the woman on the steel table, blue, cold, hard. Harry felt his hurried croissant returning to the surface, and he stopped, gagging, leaning his hand there on the cold steel next to her still head. He found his control by telling himself, over and over, _She's alive, and now, she's free_.

And once it was over, and Adam walked beside him, Harry felt he had done everything he could. He asked the question again of Adam, and knew this time, he would get an answer.

"So, where is she?"

* * *

**CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE**

* * *

Finally, Ruth thought, it ends. And she was ready for it to end. It felt as if she had been leaving Harry for years, for decades, for centuries, and she was so tired, so completely drained of all emotion now that she just wanted it to be over. She would be brave. She would be Sophie Persan. She would work in a Parisian bookseller's, and she would no longer be a spook.

The boat was here, and Ruth was ready to step on it. She wondered, in a removed, detached way, if she would still be in England when she stepped across that threshold. English waters, certainly, but would she leave England in that moment, or at some unmarked line rippling in the water of the channel? And then Ruth wondered if she actually was going mad, because in her exhaustion, she wasn't sure she cared anymore. She had cared so much and for so long, but every path had led her to this cold, grey dock.

She actually lifted up a foot to step there, into another country, when she heard him. Ruth turned, and there was Harry, walking toward her. She was taken back to the corridor in Havensworth, when she'd thought of him and he was there. Then to her kitchen, when she'd wished him to appear and he did. Was this the way it would always be? She would think of him, and he would materialize, ghost-like? And all she could think was, _oh, Harry, I just let you go, please don't pull me back_.

"I told Adam not to tell you." Ruth had asked him not to come, and this was why. _My love, can't you see how hard this is? _She tilted her head at him in warning.

Harry stopped for a moment, away from her, and Ruth saw, too, how tired he was. Four nights up, with snippets of sleep, only half hour last night for him, and none for her. And she knew that under it all, she was glad to see him, so very glad. One more time, to hear his voice, see his eyes, feel his touch. Of course he felt the same, and of course he would get the information out of Adam. "I told him I'd give him the sack if he didn't."

Ruth laughed. Still after all this, where they were in this moment, the surreal nature of what she was about to do. He could still make her laugh, and it felt good to laugh.

Harry walked toward her, his Ruth, his love. He hadn't meant to come, really. He'd wanted to honour her wishes, to let her leave in peace. He was simply going to stay in the car. Perhaps watch as the boat pulled out. But somehow, he had gotten out of the car, and somehow his feet had led him here. He wanted to fold her in his arms, but he promised himself he wouldn't touch her unless she moved to touch him.

Harry understood the delicate balance of leaving. He had done it enough in his life. It takes courage and will, and can be tipped by the slightest brush of a hand, and certainly by a kiss. He had come just to see her one more time, and he wouldn't be greedy and ask for more. They had said and done it all already, and if he could make this easier on her, he would. And as he made these lofty promises to himself, he got lost in her eyes. How could she still be so beautiful after the last four days?

"I don't know what I'll do without you, Ruth. What are you ... ?" He was about to say something terrible, something that came from deep inside his pain, something he should never say to her, _What are you going to do without me?_ And there it was, another warning in the tilt of her head. She was saying it as clearly as if she were speaking, _We weren't going to do this. This is why I didn't want you to come_.

Harry stopped, appalled with himself that he was making this harder for her. He hadn't wanted to do that. And suddenly he noticed that she stood in the cold with no scarf, something Ruth almost never did. And there, on her lovely neck, was the necklace. He looked at it, and she smiled at him. _I take you with me, Harry_, she said with her eyes, _that's how I do without you_.

Harry loved her in this moment almost more than he could bear. But still, he wouldn't touch her. He kept his hands in the pockets of his coat, clutching, to keep himself from it. "You take good care, yes?"

She nodded, grateful. "Yes." And then that smile, radiant and sad at the same time, her hair blowing in the wind. Just that smile and it was suddenly warmer. "And you," she said, reaching out to touch his arm, "Don't get shot."

Harry laughed softly. "I won't."

Ruth was doing everything she could to keep this light. The tears were so close, she felt like spun sugar, or glass, as if she might break into thousands of tiny pieces if she said anything remotely meaningful. Harry was holding her with his eyes. It was the same look, and she knew he was going to ask her again.

Ruth searched for something, anything, to say to stop him, and she suddenly realised that she hadn't arranged for Phoebe and Fidget. "Uh, can you feed my cats?" And then she couldn't hold back, remembering the other morning, when he had said she could bring them over. "Actually, take them to your house. You can adopt them."

Harry laughed, remembering, too. "Of course."

And now, here they were. After the years of falling in love silently, the time of true longing for each other, the realisation of the last fifteen days, and the intimacy of the last few hours, it came down to this.

"Goodbye, Harry."

"Goodbye, Ruth."

He meant to let her go. He meant to stand and watch the boat pull away, and know that he would find a way to her, once some time had passed. He didn't mean to say another word after goodbye. But he spoke, almost without conscious thought.

"There's something I have to tell you. I should have told you years ago."

He spoke the words as if they were memorised. The same words he had said to her so many times. He knew he was being ridiculous, that he was pushing her beyond where she wanted to go, but he couldn't seem to stop himself. She had been right last night when she said everything changes. What if he never had another chance to ask her? _I love you, Ruth. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Marry me._

"Harry, please don't."

"But if I don't tell you now, I never will." _My dream, Ruth. It never ends. So much of it has already come true. Let me hear you say yes, before you go._

From the distance, a voice called out, telling her she must get on board. "I'm coming!" Her eyes were pleading with him. Not pleading because she wanted him to stop, pleading because she was afraid he would continue. If he finally asked, the way she was feeling now, she would say yes, and she would never leave him.

"Please don't say anything. Just leave it as something that was never said." Her hand found its way up to his face, and even in the cold, Harry could feel the warmth of her. And now that she had touched him, he had permission, and Harry could reach his arms around her, as he'd been aching to do. She was looking into his eyes in the way he'd seen so often, with a full and honest heart, and with the deepest love imaginable. "Something wonderful, that was never said."

For a moment she simply looked at him, with a soft, sweet smile, and Harry thought she would let go and walk onto the boat, leaving him to know that in the last hours they had touched each other in every way possible. He wanted so much to feel her lips on his, to taste her one last time, but he was keeping his promise. And then, thank God, she moved toward him, and she kissed him after all.

The sound of the water, the breeze blowing around them, their breath, finally exhaled in the peace of each other's touch, and Ruth's soft, warm lips. This was the moment Harry would take with him to his grave. This last kiss before the unknown, after so many that came before it, this one held the final release. If you love someone, let them go. And Harry knew now that she would find her way back to him, because that's what she was telling him now. He didn't need to hear it, because this was his answer. _Yes, Harry. Let me go, and when I come back, I'll say yes._

She moved her lips away from his, but left her hands warm on his cheeks. "Let me go, Harry." She kissed him one last time, and she was gone. Harry stood, rooted to the spot, unable even to turn and look at her. All he could feel was the cold that was now where she had been. Finally, he could turn, as he heard the engines start up. She was moving into the cabin now, and looking back at him through the window.

Harry watched her get smaller out on the water. Still in the window, still looking at him. He thought he would feel devastated, empty, lost, but it wasn't nearly what he thought. She was still here, inside him, and he could call upon her whenever he wanted. She would always be here, until he could touch her, until he heard her laugh, until he kissed the charms at her neck.

He didn't know it now, but in eighty-three days, he would do all of those things.

Ruth closed her eyes, and she was surprised to find that behind them it was warm, and gold. Candlelight and smooth skin. And Harry. Always Harry. So this is how it worked, she thought. She would always have him here, whenever she wanted to remember. And right now, in this moment, she trusted that they would be together, they would find each other again, somewhere in the future.

She hadn't wanted him to come, but now she was glad he had after all. He still wanted to ask her, and she sent a message to him, now growing smaller on the dock, that she hoped every day he would think of asking her again. And one day, finally, she would say yes.

Although they didn't know it, they spoke the words to each other at exactly the same time.

Softly, so no one would be able to hear. Ruth's was drowned out by the engines, Harry's by the wind. But as they watched each other shrink across the cold, grey water, they spoke the secret aloud.

"I love you, Harry."

"I love you, Ruth."

* * *

_**The story doesn't end here. More to come. Much more.**_

**_Parts Two, Three and Four on their way soon._**


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